Dominion Red
by Capitaine Pickle
Summary: Treaty of Paris: Canada is now a British colony. Arthur has for mission to spend all winter at the Bonnefoy's seigneury. Despite the hatred that is directed at him, he cannot help but fall for the young heir... AU. UkCan. R-M for Death and later chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own neither Hetalia nor Marguerite Volant, the series from which this fanfic was inspired.

''French Speech''

_''English Speech''_

_Thoughts_

_**IMPORTANT:** _I didn't want to write a fem!Canada so in this world, gay marriages/relationships are perfectly normal and accepted. Please forgive any other possible historical inaccuracies. -is very lame-

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Dominion Red<strong>

Three years... it had been three long years since his father had left for Paris, Mathieu mused as he sat in his carters. And according to his last letter, which was already nearly four months old, he was to come home on the on June second 1763. Today, that was. Nothing yet everything had changed in the Bonnefoy seigneury. When Mathieu looked out the window, mindlessly scribbling in his journal, he saw the peaceful seigneury he had grown with, the people working on their respective tasks; one woman was feeding the chickens, another was helping out in the fields, the blacksmith was making horseshoes... yet, when one looked carefully, they could see the morn expressions bearing on these honest people's faces. Were they missing their son? Their brother? Their fiancé?

''Vash...'' He muttered softly, feeling his eyes watering. It had been so long, yet the memories felt just as painful. His late older brother, Vash, had been exceptionally talented with pistols. He had been his regiment's best shooter and best hope. But even him -Mathieu still couldn't believe it- even him, like so many other men, had died on les plaines d'Abraham. And their kind mother who had passed away from sickness last year. He had to inform his father of this in their letters... he had never gotten a reply since, until recently; the simple letter that was simply informing them of his return.

Mathieu sighed as he put a final period to the end of the stanza he had just written. He often felt ashamed with himself for not having participated in the war. The war they had lost. Yet, he was grateful that his uncle had kept him in the monastery to save him from combat. He knew, and so did his uncle, that his place was not on the battlefield but in intellect, and he knew that his best weapon was not a pistol but a nib. He would fight his own battle.

''Mathieu.'' The blond turned to the smiling face of his older sister, Élizabeth. ''Will you please go to the kitchen, see if everything's in order? Father is coming for dinner.'' Quickly putting away his papers and ink, the youngest Bonnefoy exited the room. Mathieu's ears caught on the soft melody of the harpsichord in the drawing room. He stopped on the threshold, unsurprised to see his sister's husband playing. He smiled fondly as he listened to the song. When it ended, the musician turned to him.

''Did you enjoy it? I've just finished composing it.''

''Yes, very much, Roderich.'' Mathieu said, smile widening. ''I never seem to get used to your talents.'' He admitted with some pride. Roderich mirrored his smile. ''Doesn't the windmill need its miller, though?'' He added in a scolding, but gentle tone.

''My apprentice is taking care of it right now.'' Mathieu raised a sceptical brow. ''No need to worry.'' Roderich added, guessing his brother-in-law's worries. ''I've done all the work for today. It's nothing he can't take care of.'' He reassured.

''Good.'' Mathieu smiled. ''I must go to the kitchen, but you'll have to teach me this song later.'' The brown-haired man chuckled.

''Of course.''

OoOoO

''He's here! Lord Bonnefoy is here!'' A young servant cried out loud in the kitchen. Mathieu flinched, dropping the herbs in surprise. He ran to the nearest window, eyes wide, and he indeed saw a carriage approaching in which sat none other than his dearest father. He sighed, smiling, feeling unbearable happiness -and relief- fill his entire being. How many nightmares had he had of his father dying on all the ways possible... God knew the trips overseas were dangerous. On top of that, it always took a minimum of three months between each letters.

Without wasting another second, the young blond dashed out of the kitchen and the out the manor, in front of the main door, where he impatiently awaited his father's carriage. Soon enough, his sister and her husband, the servants, almost everyone in the seigneury gathered around Mathieu. At last, the carriage stopped. People cheered as Francis Boonefoy stepped out, expression both tired and happy.

''Father.'' Élizabeth exclaimed, embracing the taller man.

''Sweet daughter.'' Francis chuckled, returning the embrace with equal vigour. His eyes turned to his son-in-law. ''Thank you, Roderich, you have taken good care of her, as I see.'' The other chuckled.

''Really, sir, it was more the other way around.'' Francis let go of his daughter as his eyes finally fell on his son. Mathieu had stayed frozen in place, incapable of moving even a finger, scared that if he did so, he would suddenly wake up from a dream. Francis smiled fondly at his now only son. He walked slowly up to him and gazed into those light blue eyes that were so much like his own; yet, they seemed so much more beautiful as they shined with youth and kindness. He cupped the boy's soft cheeks in his large hands and leaned in to gently kiss his son's forehead.

''Mathieu, my beautiful son.'' Mathieu threw his arms around his father's body, burying his face in the older man's chest. Francis laughed goodheartedly, buried his nose in his son's golden curls and inhaled deeply. How he had missed that scent.

''What news do you bring from Paris, sir?'' The blacksmith cut in the cheerful greetings. Silence fell at those words and all eyes were on the lord. Francis' eyes darkened it all the tiredness from the trip settled back in his expression. He loosened the embrace but kept an arm around his son's shoulders. Mathieu glanced up worriedly at him. There was so much pain and anger in his father's eyes... no doubt the news were very, very bad.

''My friends...'' He started at last, looking at the crowd gathered around him. ''Canada... is now a British colony.'' Loud gasps followed the declaration. Mathieu stared, disbelieving, at his father. ''It has been signed over to England through treaty...'' He continued as people kept exchanging horrified and confused looks. ''Le traité de Paris.'' He ended with a tone that Mathieu could only read as bitter irony. His father's eyes landed on his; they looked almost apologizing.

''Do you speak the truth, father? How can this be?'' Mathieu asked. It didn't make sense. How could France abandon their colony like this.

''I wish I did not, son...''

OoOoO

That evening, the dinner that had been supposed to be lively in celebration of the lord's return, ended up being gloomy and silent. Members of the Bonnefoy family, as they slowly ate, were all thinking among the same lines. They, like so many Canadians, had feared this would happen, but had maintained the hope of a favourable treaty of peace. Mathieu glanced up at his poor father and his heart squeezed painfully as he tried to read the older man's emotions that were constantly hanging over him since his return. His father, proud commander in the French marine, seemed now torn between anger and defeat. He seemed to be looking at nothing in particular and ate his food sans his usual gourmet enthusiasm.

''Choiseul.'' The man said, startling his son and catching the others' attention. He raised his gaze and looked at each of them. ''Etienne François de Choiseul, Duke of Choiseul, Minister of State and Minister of the Marine.'' Mathieu knew this person. A person which, until recently, had been high in his father's esteem. But now, those titles were stated with what he could interpret as nothing less than apathy, disdain and false enthusiasm. ''I told him... Voltaire is writing nonsense.''

''...but Voltaire is a great thinker.'' Mathieu said quietly; he could not bring himself to agree with his father.

''A selfish one.'' Francis spat. Mathieu flinched uncomfortably and looked down at his plate, not daring to meet his father's angry eyes. ''He is mocking New-France.'' The man continued. Suddenly, his tone had gained in strength, no doubt living the conversation again. ''I told him... France cannot cede Canada to England... Honour demands it.'' He took a short pause, sighing dejectedly. ''He thanked me... told me that my words had moved him deeply... that I was indeed the proud son of Pierre de Noailles, dit Volant... we shook hands... and what do I learn the very next day? Louis XV hands over la Nouvelle-France to the British, preferring the sugar and the rum of Guadeloupe.''

OoOoO

In the kitchen, the atmosphere was considerably lighter than in the dining room. The servants, preparing the main course, had been listening the the Bonnefoy family's conversation, eager to know the latest gossips of Versailles. The defeat seemed to weight much less on their shoulders.

''Apparently,'' Isabelle, often simply nicknamed Bella, started with an indignant tone as she arranged a silver plate of different kinds of pâtés and cheese. ''his Most Christian Majesty organized several balls to celebrate the signature of the treaty!''

''Seems like they were happy to get rid of us.'' One man puffed, chuckling; let it be France or England, this man didn't seem to give quite a damn.

''But under the British,'' Another man cut in as he took care of pealing potatoes. This one seemed most aware. ''we'll have to become protestants.'' Silence fell and all activities ceased.

''Our Holy Mary...'' Isabelle whispered worriedly to herself, looking down at her silver plate.

OoOoO

''Thank you, Isabelle.'' Mathieu said quietly as the young girl set the plate at the centre of the table. The girl bowed, smiling sweetly. ''Do... do you think we should go back to France, Father? Would we be better off?'' He asked, worried about what future would bring him in an English colony. Francis sighed.

''I have not the slightest idea... I no longer know where we truly belong anymore.'' Mathieu looked away, slightly dejected by the answer. He couldn't recognize his father anymore.

''Worry not, sweet Mathieu, we'll be fine here.'' Élizabeth smiled reassuringly, then put her hand on top of her husband's. ''At least, now, peace has been signed. There will be no more battles and we are all together now and that is what truly matters.''

''Indeed.'' Agreed the priest of the seigneury, Ludwig, also Francis' cousin.

''It is a night for celebrations.'' A close acquaintance of the family, a noble, raised his glass of wine as he spoke. His wife smiled and copied him, and soon, everyone did the same. ''Let us cheer for lord Bonnefoy's return!'' All drank their wine with much cheerfulness except, Mathieu noticed, his father.

''The war may not be truly finished just yet.'' Roderich said. ''Pontiac wants to make all English forts fall.''

''Without the Canadians' support, it will never work.'' The nobleman responded, smirking slightly. ''Now all the savages are boiling because they prefer making business with the French rather than the English.''

''We'll never be at peace again.'' Heavy silence filled the room again. Mathieu turned to his father, a worried frown on his normally smooth face. He realized that not only Vash had died during that war on the plaines d'Abraham... but his father as well; he knew that he would never be the same.

OoOoO

''Mathieu, what did I tell you about writing when there isn't enough light?'' Élizabeth's soft voice brought Mathieu out of his reverie. The young bland turned to his sister, who walked over to his bed to sit on it. Mathieu, who was sitting at his desk no light but a single candle, put his nib away. He smiled. ''You've already gotten yourself glasses because of that, the last thing I want is for your eyesight to worsen again.''

''I know you told me I should use at least three candles, but I wanted to save them. It's probably going to be harder for us from now on, won't it, sister?'' Élizabeth's smile faded a bit, understanding too well what her son meant. Until the strong and definite establishment of the British system, there was no doubt that New-France would go through economical hardships. ''How is father?'' Mathieu asked, wanting to change the subject.

''He's asleep...'' Élizabeth sighed. ''It's been very hard for him.''

''I hadn't realized how much loosing the war would affect him... and mother's death.'' He admitted. Perhaps he didn't know his father as well as he thought; he had always seen the strong, proud lord Bonnefoy, never the fragile side of him... aside, of course, when his older brother died...

''Father...'' Élizabeth trailed off, trying to find the best words with which she should express herself. ''... Father is very sensitive, even if he doesn't want to show it. You know how much he loved Jeanne... and don't forget that unlike mother and the rest of us, father was not born here. He was born in France, has lived his youth there and feels a stronger attachment to the mother country than we do.'' Mathieu looked down to his lap. His sister's words were true. ''He is, I think, very disappointed. We all are, but father...'' She trailed off and didn't need to continue. Mathieu knew what she meant. He knew his father and his love for his homeland as well as the pride he took in the long military tradition in his family. ''But don't worry too much, brother.'' Élizabeth added after a short silence. Her tone was full of hope. ''We can all help him; with his family around him, he will recover soon.''

OoOoO

''So you are leaving after all...'' Mahtieu sighed deeply. The two siblings were walking in the fields of the seigneury. Summer, ironically for Mathieu, had rarely been so warm and the breeze so soft against his skin. ''Ever since Father's return, I've been feeling nothing but emptiness.'' Élizabeth stopped in her stroll and looked at Mathieu, a worried frown wrinkling her pretty face.

''How can you say this?'' Mathieu stopped as well and turned to her.

''I do not recognize my own father, mother and Vash have left us... and now you and Roderich are leaving for France.'' He took his sister's hands in his. ''Please, stay... I don't know what I shall do if you leave me.'' His voice was uncharacteristically firm, and his face very serene.

''Mathieu... you know how Roderich's desires to be a composer are greater for him than his duties in the seigneury. The only way for him to accomplish his dreams is to move to Paris and it is my duty as his wife to follow him.'' She sighed. ''I love him. I'll follow him wherever he will go.'' Mathieu smiled at the confession. He certainly couldn't hold a grudge against his sister, especially for the sake of love. ''Although,'' Élizabeth added, smiling almost mischeveiviously. ''I have convinced him to join him later. He in one month and I'll only join him next summer. He'll settle in Paris, open his music shop and get his apprentices... and when I come, everything will be ready.'' Mathieu's mouth fell open.

''And you didn't tell me sooner? And poor Roderich will prepare everything on his own? I didn't know my sister was such a opportunist.'' He declared in false indignation.

''Not at all!'' His sister replied for her defence. ''He'll save money if I'm not there and you'll get to stay with your sister longer.'' The too laughed and started to walk back towards the Bonnefoy estate.

OoOoO

Le salon du lys, was a lounge in Québec city where all the talented French aristocracy and the lovers of art in all its forms came to discuss and share their passion.

All in all, it really wasn't the place for captain Arthur Kirkland of the British army.

Yet, the man could not deny his appreciation for art and here, in this colony and with his army, there was no other way to answer this appreciation than in French. Not that the man did not understand the language; he actually spoke it quite well, but he knew from all the sly glances he was getting that his presence was not welcomed. Most of these glances, though, were actually meant for his younger companion, lieutenant Jones, who was making quite a fool of himself by stuffing his mouth with all the food that could fit in at the same time.

_''Damn, I love French food.''_ The young blond said rather loudly.

''Remember, Alfred. Speak French. We don't want to upset these people more than they already are.'' He whispered harshly to the lieutenant.

_''Yeah, yeah... I mean... _'Oui oui'_.''_ He snorted. Arthur fought the urge to facepalm.

Arthur walked away from his subordinate, not wanting to be associated with him and went to a remote corner of the room. The curtains of the grand window against which he was leaning, were as bright a red as his uniform. He was almost melting into the decor; he was almost unnoticed. It was preferable this way. Soon enough, the servants started to gather some chairs around the harpsichord. The nobles gathered and sat, either fanning themselves with their laced fans or sipping their glass of wine. Arthur let out a snort. Those Canadians were no different than the French living in Paris. He saw the owner of the place; Lady Natalie who, quite frankly, sent shivers all through his spine. The lady had a sort of sadistic smile that Arthur couldn't even compare to those of his enemies on the battlefield. She had an air that certainly did not inspire trust in those who led eyes on her. She walked swiftly to the harpsichord and sat on the velvet stool. His attention then drifted on the young man that was following her. When he turned to face his audience, Arthur's breath caught itself in his throat. The boy was beautiful; his very aura was the polar opposite of lady Natalie. He radiated with kindness and modesty and his eyes, blue as the sky, were sparky with intelligence. His pale beige suit, the delicate lace that bordered every hem of his clothes, his soft, curly blond hair and his pale skin... they all formed a strange, almost hypotizing unity that made him look like an angel. Lady Natalie started playing a simple little sonnet, only meant, Arthur supposed, to accompany the boy. Was he going to sing? Smiling sweetly to the audience, the blond opened his mouth. Though it was not a song, but a poem that he was reciting.

''Il n'y a que l'azur de tes yeux

(Only in the azure of your eyes)

Qui soit un lieu sûr.

(Do I feel safe)''

The boy's voice was soft and quiet, like Arthur expected, but the blond was reciting the poem with elegance and emotion.

''Un refuge

(It is a shelter)

Pour oublier la couleur du sang.

(To forget the colour of blood.)

Ce rouge de leur veste si éclatant.

(The bright red of their coats.)''

Arthur flinched, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He saw the boy's eyes settle on him and saw a flicker of hate pass through them. The captain pressed his lips tightly together, trying to stay in control of himself. All this time, Arthur had almost forgotten that the boy was French. The latter turned his attention back to the audience, gentle smile promptly reappearing on delicate features.

''Ma douce, prends ma main.

(Sweetheart, take my hand.)

La nuit vient.

(Night comes.)

Dans nos rêves,

(In our dreams,)

Nous peindrons le monde en bleu

(We shall paint the world in blue)

Afin qu'au matin nous puissions cueillir,

(So that when morning comes we may pick,)

Si Dieu le veut,

(If such is the will of God,)

Le lys de l'avenir.

(The lily of providence.)''***

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><p><strong>Historical Notes:<strong>

Although Hetalia characters are fictional, pretty much all the others did actually exist. That includes, of course, Louis XV, king of France, Etienne François de Choiseul, etc.  
>As you probably know, the death rates were extremely high in colonies (for various causes) so I know this is all quite angsty (lol), but it's actually fairly close to the colonies' reality.<br>There were also many cases of exile in the Canadian aristocracy; many Canadian nobles went back to France when the treaty of Paris was signed and there were also many cases of suicide for the same reason. See how French people hated the British? Lol Death and exile was better, apparently!

**Language Notes:**

*** The poem was taken directly from Marguerite Volant (the series). I only translated the text.  
>Now, I know names like Ludwig or Vash aren't very French lol, but I didn't want to change them, of course. The only exceptions would be Elizaveta since the French version (Élizabeth) still is quite close and Natalie (Natalia) for the same reason. Oh, and Isabelle is Belgium. Please do not hate me 8D.<br>Pierre de Noailles, dit Bonnefoy: In French, it was common occurrence for nobles to be associated with the place they come from before their family name. Noailles is a district of Paris. 'dit Bonnefoy' literally means 'said Bonnefoy' but takes the meaning of 'also known as Bonnefoy'. So all in all, it's ''Pierre from Noailles, also known as Bonnefoy''.

**NEXT CHAPTER:** More British bashing (lol, I love you guys, I'm sorry!) and Gilbert makes his awesome entrance! Stay tuned and, above all, **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own neither Hetalia nor Marguerite Volant, the series from which this fanfic was inspired.

''French Speech''

_''English Speech''_

_Thoughts_

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Dominion Red<strong>

Élizabeth was sitting in the living room with her family like almost every evening since the day she was born. Working on her embroidery she listened calmly to the conversation while also appreciating the calm atmosphere that her husband's playing on the harpsichord procured to the room. Sitting to her right was her brother, half writing in his journal as he talked about his evening in Québec city and how his poem had been applauded by everyone.

''Except by the British officers, of course.'' He added, chuckling.

''There were British officers in Lady Natalie's lounge?'' Their father asked, frowning.

''A few, yes. No more than five, if I remember correctly.'' His father sighed, rubbing his forehead.

''I've been thinking...'' Ludwig started, wanting to change the subject for the sake of his cousin's sanity. ''I believe you shouldn't go travel on your own, Mathieu. It is no longer safe.'' Mathieu blinked, uncertain if he had heard the clergyman correctly.

''What?''

''He is right.'' His father said. ''We are at a critical time as it is. Until the British settle properly, it is unsafe to travel alone; robberies and crimes are more and more frequent. With Élizabeth and Roderich gone, you will be the sole heir of this seigneury, Mathieu.''

''But-!''

''-If he was properly married, it wouldn't be a problem.'' Élizabeth said with almost disturbing cheerfulness. ''If he was married to a strong, handsome man-'' She stopped herself, unable to refrain the loud squeal from coming out. Roderich's fingers slipped on the keyboard.

''Élizabeth!'' Mathieu exclaimed, cheeks bright red.

''Yet, she is right, mon fils.'' Francis said, keeping a serious tone. Mathieu turned to him and blinked. He saw the corner of his father's mouth turn upward in a subtle -but it was there!- and almost mischievous smile. A rare sight, nowadays. ''I would sleep better at night knowing you are married to someone who can protect you. I met this fine gentleman on the battlefield. A great soldier. I wrote to him to enquire onto him and wrote about you. I received his reply earlier today. He said he'd been very interested in the match.'' Mathieu's mouth fell open.

''Father! How could you?'' He was beyond embarrassed... and angry. ''Won't you honour mother's last wish? You know as well as I do that she wanted me to consent to the union.'' _Unlike her,_ he guarded himself from adding. Francis flinched at those word. He sighed.

''No need to get so worked up.'' He rose from his chair went to pour himself a glass of wine. He took a long sip before adding. ''You shall at least meet him. He will join us for dinner next Sunday.''

OoOoO

Sunday came far too fast for the young Canadian. He didn't know if he should trust his father with his choice of partner. Not that he did not trust is father generally... but the main, despite the importance he gives the army and the honour of the king, the man could be incredibly frivolous and futile. He trusted that the man, this Gilbert, would be quite handsome. However, Mathieu looked for more in a partner than physical appearance. He wanted someone that at least shared his respect for letters.

''Mathieu, come, the guest has arrived.'' Élizabeth said cheerfully, winking at him. He sighed. At least her sister seemed to be happy about this. As he followed her downstairs, Mathier suddenly reminded himself of what their father had said about the man; that he was one of those rare people born with red eyes and white hair. His people being both quite religious and superstitious, he was impressed that his father would let him be courted by such a man. He knew that people with these traits were known to bring misfortune and evil... The more he thought about the the more uncertain he was.

''Ah, there they are.'' As they arrived in the main hall, the say their father, smiling at them and move slightly to the side to reveal the gentleman in question. Mathieu blinked, hoping his flinch hadn't been too obvious; it was, after all, the first time he was seeing an albino. The man really outdid his expectations; his eyes were a bright shade of red, a shade he had rarely ever seen before and his hair reminded him of the snow loved so much, then points having a nice greyish tone to them. ''May I introduce you to Élizabeth, my daughter.'' Francis said as his daughter first reached the little gathering; Ludwig was already there. Gilbert bowed cordially to the young lady, smiling a smile Mathieu had to admit he was unsure if he liked or not. ''Her husband is away in Québec city for preparations of their going back to France and should be here tonight.'' Francis explained as he motioned for Mathieu to come closer. The latter swallows somewhat nervously, but walks forward without letting it show. ''And this is my son, Mathieu.'' Francis says with much fondness. Gilbert's smile widens and, again, bows cordially to him. He takes the young man's hand and kisses it with so much decorum that Mathieu cannot help the pink blush that forms on his cheeks. He hadn't expected such forwardness on the other's part. Élizabeth, at the sight, immediately clasps her hand to her mouth, choking a disgraceful squeal back in.

''It's an honour to finally meet you, Mathieu.''

''Let us sit in the living room and have an aperitif before dinner is served.'' Francis says, inviting everyone to move. He keeps Mathieu behind with him and whispers to him. ''You look lovely tonight, Mathieu.''

Mathieu looked away; he had only followed his father's instructions to dress in his best clothes. He knew, with these words, he wanted him to know that Gilbert felt the same and also knew that his father was asking him to seduce the man. He walked away to join the others without commenting. His father's attitude outraged him.

OoOoO

During dinner, Gilbert was sitting in front of him. Mathieu kept his eyes on the plate, very aware of those crimson eyes that were devouring him. He glanced at his sister who was sitting to Gilbert's left. She winked at him. Mathieu promptly replies with a warning glare.

''I was there when you recited the poem.'' Gilbert said casually, catching Mathieu's attention. ''I didn't know it was you back then. I was quite impressed with your performance. Are you the author?'' Mathieu smiled, happy that his work was recognized.

''Yes.'' Mathieu said quietly, nodding.

''Very impressive.'' Gilbert compliments. ''If every Canadian were as honourable as you, we wouldn't have lost the war, I'm sure. After all, we need more than arms to fight. Intelligent writing can influence even the monarchs, don't you agree?'' Mathieu's eyes brighten at those words. That was what he had been trying to make people understand for so long. He nodded vigorously.

''Yes, quite! Can you read minds, sir?'' He asked playfully. Gilbert laughed outloud.

''I wish I could.'' He said before sipping his glass of wine; a delicious french vintage wine of cabarnet sauvignon from Bordeaux. ''Though almost all those British already speak French. Some can even cite Voltaire and Diderot better than us.'' He paused take another sip from his glass and snickered with sarcasm. ''Is it truly their intention to make us become British citizens?''

''You are quite naive, sir.'' Ludwig said monotonously, much less amused by the whole thing. ''Have you forgotten that they have deported the Acadiens because they refused to swear allegiance to the King of England?''

''Most of their troops are gone to New York. It's not the few soldiers that are left that will rule over us.''

''At least in Paris,'' Élizabeth said. ''our children will be raised in our language and in our religion.''

''The English won't succeed in subduing us or reduce us to silence. Impossible.'' Mathieu told her.

''Your brother is right. We are too many for that to happen.'' Ludwig turned to him.

''Yet we shouldn't underestimate the-''

''Can we spend time together without always talking about those damn English!'' Francis said angrily, imposing an uncomfortable silence upon the entire room.''

After a short moment, Élizabeth turned her gaze toward the window. The sun was setting and her husband still wasn't back. She sighed.

''Worry not, sister.'' Mathieu said gently. ''I doubt Roderich will take the risk to travel at night. Surely, there were some last minute details he had to attend to and will spend the night in the city.''

''I'm alright.'' She replied though with little conviction.

OoOoO

''Are you not afraid to travel back in the city at this hour, sir?'' Mathieu asked Gilbert as the two walked outside in the soft and chilly breeze of late evening.

''It's a risk I'm willing to take. I have some matters to take care of early in the morning.'' The two reached the older man's horse, held securely by a servant. ''Mathieu...I will probably seem very bold, but... tonight I have met someone important.'' The white-haired man said, voice suave. ''I humbly ask permission to see you again.'' Mathieu smiled, feeling his cheek tickling in excitement.

''I first agreed to this meeting to please my father, but... I do not regret it. I would be very happy so see you again.'' Gilbert kissed his hand again, a satisfied smiling on his lips and, with a swift movement of his blood-red cape, mounted his horse.

''I shall write to you.''

OoOoO

It was near midnight when the noise was heard. A cacophony of dogs barking, horses marching and a few military cries. None of the Bonnefoys had gone to bed yet, but were nonetheless startled by the sudden disturbance. They rushed to the main hall, where Isabelle was waiting with Lord Bonnefoy's coat. ''The Brithsh!'' She said simply, panic keeping her from making any complete sentences. Mathieu and his sister looked at each other worriedly, the at their father, who was putting on his coat with a deep frown on his features. The four of them, soon joined by other curious inhabitants of the seigneury, went outside to greet the company which must have been composed of at least one hundred and twenty soldiers. The horses at the front stopped in front of the Bonnefoys. Mathieu frowned; it was hard to see as their faces were only lightened by a handful of soldiers with torches, but he had seen the two men in front of him before.

_''Halt!''_ The lieutenant cried, arm in a ninety degree position upward position, hand straight, signalling the soldiers to stop. _''Secure those girths.''_ The young blond instructed, handing them to a subordinate officer as he dismounted his horse.

The second to dismount his horse was none other than captain Kirkland, followed by his lieutenant Jones. The sandy haired man walked in front of Francis. His eyes met with the Mathieu's and they widened slightly in surprise. Quickly brushing away those thoughts, he turned his attention back to the lord and offered him a courtly greeting; a polite head-nod, hand pulling slightly on his three-cornered hat.

''Commander Bonnefoy.'' The captain started in an accented, but confident French. ''I am captain Arthur Kirkland and this is my lieutenant Alfred F. Jones.'' He introduced, gesturing toward the other. The latter copied his superior's salute.

''Capitaine.'' Francis greeted back with a formal salute of his hand. His voice held clear contempt. Arthur looked toward his soldiers somewhat anxiously; some were pulling a small, two-wheeled waggon. Francis' frown deepened slightly in confusing, which was only enhanced when her daughter, Élizabeth, rushed toward the waggon. Mathieu, sharing his sister's worries, followed her.

''Our company is here to pacify the region and help your inhabitants.'' Arthur explained calmly.

Élizabeth gripped onto the wooden bars, panting. She saw the handyman whom had escorted her husband covered in bloody bandages being helped out of the waggon by other inhabitants.

''I couldn't do anything!'' He declared in a trembling voice. ''They shot him from behind... if the British hadn't arrived, I'd be dead now...'' He confessed, half sobbing. Élizabeth's wide eyes then fell on the form lying on the wheat straws, entirely covered by a grey cloth. With a trembling hand, she pulled the cloth away, revealing her husband's bloody face. His eyes were closed and he remained unmoving.

''Roderich! Roderich!'' She screamed, shaking her the man's sleeping form. ''No, please!'' Mathieu covered his mouth in pure horror. He looked at his sister, panicked and sobbing.

''Élizabeth...'' He said in shaky voice, taking hold of his sister's wrists as her shaking become more violent, more desperate. The woman, weak and devastated, fell against her brother's form. Ludwig, who had just arrived, helped the people getting the corpse out of the waggon.

''Too late.'' Francis spat, walking toward her distressed daughter. Arthur, taken aback by the statement, stayed there, speechless. He looked toward the lord's family, feeling incredibly helpless. His mission had taken a bad start. He was here to gain the French's trust, not the opposite. He followed landlord, insisting upon his intentions.

''You may tell your people that we come here in peace. The treaty-''

''You can tell them yourself, since you speak French so well, capitaine. We have nothing else to say to each other.'' Francis interrupted, tone dark and imposing, before following the rest of his family inside their estate.

Arthur sighed deeply, trying to contain his frustration. He rubbed his forehead; this mission was going to be the hardest he had ever been assigned to.

OoOoO

It had been near three weeks since the funerals. The funerals had been dreadfully gloomy. Of course, any funeral ought to be this way, but the villagers' had been constantly reminding them of the hostility they with vicious glares or plain ignorance. It was now early September already. The temperature was slowly getting colder, just like the atmosphere in the Bonnefoy residence. Arthur sighed, the whole situation was very upsetting for everyone. He speared a glance at his clueless lieutenant who didn't seem really affected by the situation. All he had been complaining about was how uncomfortable the tents were. But that was to be remedied.

_''Has sergeant Ducan reported to you on the search for the assassins yet?''_ Arthur asked, tired of the heavy silence hanging in the room; they were both waiting for the landlord in Roderich's study. Not the best room for negotiations, in his opinion.

_''Oh, right, I forgot!''_ Arthur rolled his eyes. How the hell did this airhead manage to become a lieutenant? And why was he stuck with him? _''He told me he was on a lead. The servant that had accompanied the miller said they were only three.''_

_''Good.''_ The conversation went no further as Mathieu entered the room. The latter wasted no time to get into business.

''You wish to settle here?'' He asked. Arthur and his companion shared a confused look. The captain also found disturbing how tired and pale the young blond looked... yet -and damn him for his inappropriate thoughts- he still looked absolutely lovely and he liked how his black clothes contrasted with his pale features.

''We were expecting the landlord.'' Alfred said, still confused by the boy's presence. His French was not quite as fluid as his captain's.

''I'm the landlord.'' Mathieu stated simple and sat in front of the desk. Arthur and Alfred exchanged yet another look then sat opposite the other.

''Our mission is to spend all winter here and help your people reconstruct and bring peace. Therefore, my men are leaving their tents to settle in your people's houses. My lieutenant and I wish to settle into your domain.'' Mathieu stared.

''The villagers have already agreed?'' He asked, disbelieving. Arthur nodded.

''How much are you giving them?''

''Three pounds a month.''

''Good.'' Mathieu said. He looked to the side, thinking for a moment, then turned his attention to them again. ''Then for here, it shall be twelve pounds a month.'' He stated and his tone called for no negotiations. Alfred's mouth fell open.

_''What?'' _

''Sir...'' Arthur protested, frowning. ''You forget that the army will provide your people of the best provisions of all Europe and that when they are not training, our soldiers will help your people with whatever handwork your will assign them to.'' Arthur leaned back against his seat, a smug and proud smile on his lips. ''The army is very generous.'' Mathieu, thought, looked perfectly unimpressed.

''Excellent. Then it'll be twelve pounds a month for both of you and three for your soldier that will live in our servants.'' He stated, then rose from his seat. Both English soldiers did the same.

''...Very well...'' Arthur agreed with reticence. Mathieu, without so much as a nod, left the room.

_''What the hell? We're paying more here than in Québec city! Why didn't you insist?''_ Arthur wasn't even sure himself, but it was best not to upset the family any more... The captain, not gracing his lieutenant with an answer, promptly left the room, led by a will he could not control.

''Mathieu... Mathieu!'' Arthur called out, catching up to the blond. He grabbed the boy's arm, forcing their gazes to meet. Mathieu was frowning; he certainly hadn't given the man the permission to call him by his first name.

''What is it...'' Arthur swallowed thickly. He hadn't actually planned that far ahead.

''Well... it's just...'' He started clumsily, still not letting go of the other's arm. He was never the best when it came to casual conversation. ''You look very tired...'' Mathieu's frown was instantly replaced by an expression of confusion. He blinked. He hadn't expected for the man to care about his personal well-being.

''With a sister morning her husband -our miller- and a father morning his country, it's been quite hard for me to manage the seigneury.'' Mathieu confessed, sighing tiredly. Arthur ran his hand down Mathieu's arm slowly to take his delicate hand in own gloved one. He looked down at it, rubbing his thumb against boney knuckles, then looked dead into fine blue eyes.

''If there's anything I can do to help...'' Mathieu's breath caught in his throat. He glanced down uncomfortable at his hand, then nervously to the side.

''Well, I...'' He glaced back up at Arthur's deep green eyes. He found compassion and honest desire to do good in them. Mathieu suddenly felt guilty about the heartless treatment he had given the man. They were here in peace, after all, and were even investigating on Roderich's robbers and assassins... perhaps he should give them a chance. He pulled his hand away shyly. ''If you don't mind, there is something I would like you to do.'' Arthur smiled, glad he was seeing something other than hatred directed at him.

''You can ask me anything.''

''If you will please follow me.'' Mathieu said, turning around.

The went outside and walked to the backyard where Arthur was greeted with a huge pile of logs... and an axe. Arthur swallowed back a groan.

''These need to be cut in a least two or three. This will be our firewood for the winter.'' Mathieu explained, turning to Arthur, an small mischievous smile on his lips. Arthur could not resist and smiled back; the young French looked rather cute when smiling like that.

''Understood.''

OoOoO

''You can put these in the oven, Isabelle.'' Mathieu said, wiping some sweat off his forehead as he had just finished kneading the dough for the bread. The young girl nodded, putting them on a plate. The boy, then, poured himself a glass of fresh water. He looked down at his empty glass pensively. _Maybe I should bring him one... _He mused with some childish embarrassment. ''But first...'' He trailed off aloud, preparing a small plate of various little snacks for his sister.

When he entered her room, his sister was looking down longingly at some of her husband's most recent music sheets. Mathieu's heart fell at the sight. He set the tray on the bedside table and sat beside his sister on the bed. He warped a comforting arm around her shoulder and stayed there, silent.

''He was such a good composer. I'm sure he would have been very successful in Paris.'' Élizabeth said after a while, voice quivering with sadness and -Mathieu detected- guilt.

''I think so too.'' Mathieu replied, rubbing her sister's back. ''We didn't get to practice his latest piece.'' Those moments with Roderich on the harpsichord had were among his favourites. ''He will be missed at Le salon du lys... he was lady Natalie's favourite player.'' Élizabeth turned to him and nodded, smiling slightly. They embraced, arms so tight they both had to stop breathing. ''How about some food?'' Mathieu asked, tone light.

''Yeah... I'm getting hungry.'' Mathieu smiled, happy his sister hadn't protested this time.

''Sir? A letter for you.'' Isabelle said through the door after knocking on it.

''Come in.'' The girl came in and handed the letter to the young master before leaving with a polite head-nod.

''Must be from Gilbert.'' Élizabeth said playfully. Mathieu blushed and opened the letter. He scanned quickly over the somewhat messy handwriting. His blushed darkened.

''He's inviting me to a ball. A masquerade, actually.'' He told his sister, but before he cold fold the letter back, the girl had snatched it away from his grasp. ''Hey!''

'''Le matin vous ressemble comme une rose. Il s'ouvre et me fait penser à vous et votre sourire qui vit dans mon coeur (Morning resembles you like a rose. It blooms and reminds me of you and your smile that dwells in my heart***).' How romantic.'' Élizabeth smiled. Mathieu took his letter back, frowning childishly.

''You and your suspicious obsession.'' He muttered, causing the woman to laugh. Her laughter slowly died down as she remembered all the letters of this kind Roderich had written to her, and all the little melodies he had said had been inspired from her breauty. She sighed. Her brother offered her a compassionate smile.

''But you know I can't go. The morning, the proprieties... it would be highly improper for me to attend.'' Élizabeth turned to him, her gaze serious.

''You must go, Mathieu. These occasions rarely present themselves nowadays... you've got to hang onto every little bit of happiness that is offered to you and enjoy them while they last. You don't have to pay from my own suffering.'' She took her brother's hands in hers. ''You must go.'' Mathieu stared, a little taken aback by his sister's words. He nodded, smiling gratefully.

OoOoO

Mathieu exited the his house, a large glass of water in his hands. He was still surprised with himself for bothering with that English soldier, but Mathieu took great pride in being civilized, and now that Canada and Great Britain were at peace (it was a shake state of peace, but peace nonetheless), it would be unreasonable to be so ungrateful to the soldiers' services. He had indeed seen a great difference since their arrival; wheat was coming more easily to the windmill (although the flour took longer now that only Roderich's apprentice was there) and people in the seigneury looked healthier, less exhausted. The nearer he got, the louder the sound of woodcuts was. And the English swearing as well.

_''May God damn Canadian winters.''_ The captain muttered as he swung the axe dead in the centre of the log in one powerful movement. Mathieu chuckled as he turned the corner of house. He stopped abruptly in his steps, not having expected what was before him. That is to say, a very shirtless captain Kirkland. Indeed, the man had taken off his search as he had been sweating from the hard labour. Now Mathieu was graced with a perfect view of contracted and well-developed muscles... while the captain was not quite as tall or broad-shouldered as his lieutenant, the man had absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. Sweat drops were hanging in the points of spiky, messy hair, then falling and trickled around of every curve of the older man's muscles. Mathieu looked down at his glass of water, a furious shade of red on his cheeks.

''Hm... I brought this...'' He said quietly, shyly. Arthur stopped, then turned to the young blond. He blinked at the sight. He watched, bemused, as the boy walked closer and handed him the glass of water, avoiding any eye contact. Arthur blinked again, l confused by the boy's unusually shy demeanour. Then, it hit him. A satisfied -very satisfied- smirk form in the Brit's face.

''Thank you.'' He said almost huskily, taking the glass, though not without brushing the other man's fingers. He emptied the glass in less time that it took anyone to say 'God bless the King'; he closed his eyes tightly, concentrating on the marvellous sensation of fresh water running down his dry throat. He let out a happy sigh and gave the glass back to the landlord. He chuckled the bit; the boy was still avoiding him with his eyes. The captain decided to be merciful and, for Mathieu's modesty's sake, put his shirt back on loosely.

''You've already cut all that?'' Mathieu exclaimed in surprised when his eyes derived on the pile of firewood. He turned to Arthur, who wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead. The Englishman nodded.

''I should be done within the hour.'' He informed the younger blond, smiling.

''Wow...Thank you.'' Mathieu breathed out, not knowing what else to say.

''It's nothing. I'll do everything in my power to help you and your people, even if only in simple tasks like this. I can promise you that.'' Arthur said solemnly, his smile fond and kind.

Mathieu's heart skipped a beat.

Muttering another quick thank you, the boy turned on his eyes, leaving a confused -and slightly amused as well- captain behind. The boy walked in a fast, nervous pace. He looked down at the empty glass and shook his head. _What am I doing?_ He asked himself angrily. He needed to reply to Gilbert's letter... he'd feel better after this.

* * *

><p><strong>***<strong> Again, I have only provided English translation, the original text being in the TV series Marguerite Volant.

So poor Roderich is dead... and there's more drama to come in the next chapter, yay! Lol -slapped-

I hope you enjoyed this... please tell me what you think. n_n

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own neither Hetalia nor Margueritte Volant.

''French Speech''

_''English Speech''_

_Thoughts_

**Warning: **I'm warning you guys, I'm in an incredibly sappy and melo-dramatic mood right now lol... Also, wet dreams ahead.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Dominion Red<strong>

It was Mathieu's first ball, and any of the guests in the room that spared him a glance could tell. They would chuckle -though women would have the presence of mind of hiding it behind their laced fans- amused by the almost childish amazement written all over the young Bonnefoy's face. The mood was lively, the clothes were rich and extravagant, people were laughing and talking loudly, and some were already tipsy... if it hadn't been for the few redcoats staining the decor, it would have been as though the war had never happened in the first place. Mathieu looked down at himself and sighed slightly in relief, glad he had given in to his sister's advice on clothing. He was wearing a suit his father had brought back from his trip to France, a suit that, unsurprisingly, was overly-decorated by the finest Le Puy lace -from, of course, Le Puy-en-Velay-, silver embroidery and many other frivolities. Mathieu had been very unwilling to wear it, but looking at the rest of the happy assembly, realized that if he hadn't, he would have felt quite under-dressed.

The young noble walked aimlessly among the guests -grabbing on his passage, a glasas of champagne- looking for one particular red-eyed man, but without success. Any feeling of distress, though, were quickly dissipated by the snatches of conversations he could hear; indeed, Mathieu was quite amused by the ridiculously frivolous concerns of the ladies. Not only had they always been late with fasion in Paris due to the distance between the two lands, but now they feared that the treaty with England would prevent imports of French goods in favour of 'tasteless English rags'.

''Mathieu.'' Mathieu flinched slightly at the deep, accented voice, but quickly regained composure. Forgetting about his eavesdropping, the blond turned around and offered Arthur a polite smile, then a bow, which were cordially returned. ''Would you do me the honour of this dance?'' Mathieu blinked, a little put off by the surprisingly soft tone of the older man, his demeanour -despite the uniform- reminding him of a gentleman's rather than an officer's. Mathieu offered him his most apologetic smile.

''Forgive me, capitaine, but I'm waiting for a gentleman.'' The Britishman's charming smile instantly vanished. His manners suddenly cold, Arthur offered the Canadian a short bow and left without another word. Mathieu, puzzled by the odd change of behaviour, quickly finished his champagne to forget. Then. Right as he swallowed the last bit of the burning liquid, he saw none other than Gilbert enter the room. All previous confusion disappeared and Mathieu began to advance towards his friend, smile bright and cheeks warm (but Mathieu liked to think it was because of the alcohol). He stopped when he saw an unknown gentleman greet him and introduce him to a pretty lady. Mathieu frowned. Gilbert, instead of offered a simple bow, took the lady's hand and kissed it with just as much charm and theatre than he had kissed Mathieu's own.

''Would you do me the honour of this dance?'' Mathieu recognized the captain's voice instantly. He turned to see the man asking a young lady for the dance Mathieu had just refused. He spared Gilbert one curt glance -the man was still talking to the lady with that charming little smirk of his- and made up his mind. Before the girl could even open her mouth, Mathieu had ungracefully placed himself between her and Arthur.

''I've changed my mind.'' He simply said, stubbornly ignoring the embarrassment he felt. Arthur's eyes were wide with surprise and the smile that had disappeared earlier came back full force and Mathieu could not help but finding it even more attractive. With obvious happiness, the officer offered him his arm, which was promptly accepted. Chuckling slightly, Mathieu quickly dragged him to the dance floor, for the song had just started.

OoOoO

Gilbert, having left the lady's company, slowly walked in search of Mathieu. But instead, he found Natalie, looking at the dancing couples with strange interest. _Since when does that witch care about that sort of thing?_ Curious, Gilbert joined her, taking a closer look. It was then that he saw Mathieu dancing with a British officer. Natalie, not needing to look behind her to know who it was, snorted behind he fan.

''Playing hard to get was a dangerous move of you, Gilbert. Now someone else has caught up to you.'' She chuckled darkly. ''How will you be able to pay back all your debts if he is to marry another?'' Gilbert growled in annoyance.

''I'm in perfect control of the situation.'' He spat before leaving the insufferable woman's company to get some champagne. Natalie raised an amused brow, then resumed her previous activity.

OoOoO

''You speak our language so well... when did you learn?'' Mathieu asked his partner, honestly curious but also looking for conversation, seeing as it didn't seem to be the other man's speciality.

''At a very young age my father hired a French private tutor. Also, before coming here, I spent several months in Paris.'' Arthur explained, bringing Mathieu in a well-executed spin. Mathieu smiled; he certainly knew how to dance, something he hadn't expected from the Britishman.

''I'm very envious. I'd like to go there one day.'' With those words, the song ended. The two left the dance floor, arms still linked. They had barely even started on poetry, when a rather rude cough cut their talk short. They turned and met blood-red eyes.

''Dearest Mathieu.'' Gilbert smiled, bowing, before sending the Englishman a meaningful glare. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best to keep cool composure. Reluctantly letting go of Mathieu's arm, Arthur left, though not without sending the younger blond a small smile. Mathieu watched Arthur leave regretfully. He blinked as he felt his hand being taken. Turning back toward Gilbert, Mathieu snatched away his hand before the other man's lips could even brush them.

''Spare me your false reverences, Gilbert.'' Mathieu said as he grabbed another glass of champagne, suddenly feeling the urge to drink some. ''You are nothing but a great boaster and charmer.'' Gilbert fought the urge not to snort. Who would have thought that that boy would be more capricious than a woman? The albino went for his most charming smile; much to his annoyance, though, the boy was not paying attention.

''Indeed I am guilty of crime.'' He admitted. He cupped the other's cheek, forcing their gazes to meet. ''But you, my dear, are an ever grater criminal.'' To this, Mathieu frowned.

''How so?'' He asked, rising a sceptical brow.

''Only you has been able to steal my heart.'' Gilbert let a triumphant smile grace his features when the rose of Mathieu's cheeks brightened.

OoOoO

It took yet another few glasses of Champagne for Mathieu to forgive the albino. Gilbert, while grateful that all traces of hostility from Mathieu's part had disappeared, was exasperated by the boy's disgraceful attitude. He obviously could not handle his alcohol and was now making quite a fool of himself by reciting much too loudly (he had never expected the normally quiet boy could have such a strong voice) the romantic proses Gilbert had written for the Bonnefoy boy.

''And what did you say in your last letter again?'' Mathieu asked loudly, giggling and accidentally dumping into people in his drunken march. ''That I reminded you of a rose or something like that?''

''You need to sit down, dear.'' Gilbert whispered harshly, forcing the young blond to rest on the nearest couch.

''No need to be so rough.'' Mathieu pouted.

''Do not move from here. I'll fetch you a bowl of stock.''

''Sir.'' Mathieu giggled, saluting so clumsily, he nearly slapped himself. Gilbert sighed heavily and left his side.

As he walked, he came across Natalie's path again. Frowning, he went straight to her, no longer thinking about the stock. While Gilbert seemed quite put out, Natalie, per usual, found the whole situation awfully amusing.

''And you say he's Francis' heir? Are you quite sure?'' Gilbert asked.

''Of course. With the elder brother and Élizabeth's husband gone, there is no doubt that the seigneury will be passed onto Mathieu.'' Natalie answered, fanning herself.

''He's drunk.'' Gilbert spat. ''How am I supposed to get his consent?''

''There now...'' Natalie sighed, looking away, bored. Then, something interesting caught her eye. She hid her vile smile with her fan. Oblivious, Gilbert continued.

''Though I admit he's quite agreeable to look at. I take pleasure in seducing him. And the fact that he has to give me his consent makes the game much more entertaining.'' He chuckled to himself. ''We wouldn't want to drag him in front of the altar now, would we?'' When he looked back at Natalie, he was greeted with contempt.

''You are disgusting, sir.'' Natalie huffed before leaving. Gilbert stared, confused. His eyes widened, turning to the blurry form that had been in the corner of his eyes. He was horrified to find Mathieu standing there, suddenly looking quite sober and quite angry. The young blond walked past him without a second glance. Panicked, Gilbert quickly seized his arm.

''Let go!'' Mathieu cried out, snatching his arm away, knocking down a servant's plate full of glassed. The noise brought everyone's attention on them, especially Arthur who, worried, walked towards them.

''Mathieu, this isn't what you think-'' He tried to grab the boy again, but the latter backed away. Still somewhat dizzy from all the drinks, he stumbled over his own feet. Strong arms caught him before his fall. Mathieu looked up, relieved to see Arthur's kind and worried green eyes cast down on him. Straightening himself up, he wrapped his arms around one of Arthur's own for balance.

''Please, bring me back home, capitaine.'' Arthur nodded.

''Captain, he is my promised one!'' Gilbert contested.

''I think his intentions are quite clear, sir.'' Arthur said coldly before slowly walking away, careful not to rush his drunken charge. Gilbert growled and rushed toward them. However, the albino had not even taken a step forward when somebody stopped him.

_''I think that's quite enough, sir.''_ _There's no way I'm letting that old man getting all the glory_, Alfred thought, grinning to himself. If he couldn't get the lady, then he'd at least get to stop the bad guy.

OoOoO

In the carriage, Alfred leisurely leaned on his elbow, looking out the window. After a while -getting bored with the stars above- Alfred looked back at the two other silent occupants of the carriage. Mathieu had long ago fallen asleep and was now comfortably resting against Arthur's shoulder. Alfred also noticed that his captain's eyes had not left the younger blond's peaceful features. He observed -not knowing if he should be amused or worried- as Arthur gently brushed the boy's still-pink cheeks with the back of his fingers.

''Seriously, Arthur?'' His question held no sarcasm or humour. Arthur finally tore his gaze away from Mathieu's sleeping face and looked at Alfred. The older man did not answer. He didn't need to. A brief glance and he brought his eyes back to Mathieu; that was enough. Alfred sighed. He had never seen such adoration in those green eyes before. Hell, he hadn't thought that this man was even capable of truly loving someone. _Of course, _Alfred thought ironically, _he just had to fall for a French. Way to make your life even more complicated, captain. _He fought the urge to snort. Although Alfred had to be honest with himself; as he looked down at the beautiful face of Mathieu Bonnefoy, he could not blame his superior... He looked up to Arthur again. _But I've already lost to you, have I not, captain? _He smiled to himself, finally looking back up to the stars.

OoOoO

It wasn't until the following evening that Mathieu felt himself completely sober and healthy again. Rising from his bed, he brushed blond tresses away from his forehead along with the last remains of a previous headache. He had half slept through the day and therefore knew hr probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Settled on that thought, the blond thought some humour would do him good (and a little bit of food too; he had thrown up everything he had ingested earlier today). Getting up, the young heir walked down the stairs and went straight up to the library. He began to look for his favourite of Molière's works: _Le malade imaginaire._ He was perplex, however, to see it missing from the shelves. He exited the room and went to find his sister in the living room; the woman was reading by the fireplace, a neglected glass of whine on the small table next to the chesterfield. Élizabeth looked up from his book and smiled at the sight of her brother.

''Glad to see you've recovered.'' She said somewhat teasingly.

''Thakn you.'' He replied with some embarrassment. ''Have you seen Le malade imaginaire? It isn't in the library.'' His sister shook her head.

''How was the bal?'' She asked, eager to hear about her brother's evening with his courtier.

''Do you mind if I tell you later? It was quite disappointing and I'd like to just enjoy a good book for now...'' Élizabeth's smile fell.

''Oh.''

''Sorry.'' Mathieu smiled sheepishly.

''Not at all. I hope it wasn't too bad.'' _All things considered,_ Mathieu thought, _I guess it wasn't... _

He walked out of the room even more confused than he had entered it. The book wasn't in the library... Élizabeth had not taken it... his father certainly had not been in the mood for comedy lately... and the servants always asked before borrowing anything. _It only leaves... _He trailed off, going back upstairs. Standing in front of Arthur's door, Mathieu hesitated before knocking. He was still quite embarrassed about getting drunk like he did, but he did need to thank the man. Sighing, the blond finally knocked on the door.

When Arthur opened the door, he hadn't expected to find Mathieu in front of him. The two stared at each other awkwardly for a moment.

''I'm-

Are you-'' They both stopped, laughing sheepishly. ''I hope you're feeling better.''

''Yes, and it's all thanks to you. I'm terribly sorry for troubling you... and I apologize if I caused you any embarrassment.''

''Worry not, you have done nothing to be ashamed of, if not perhaps a little drool stain on my uniform.'' The Britishman teased, smiling down at the blond. The latter blushed, smiling back.

''I'm looking for a book written by Molière... I thought you might have seen it.''

''Oh, yes! I'm sorry, I took it without asking.'' Instantly, the officer went into his room, looking through his mess in search for the book.

''Oh, please don't trouble yourself, you don't have to give it back right away.'' Mathieu said, a little taken aback by the sudden reaction.

''No no, I finished it yesterday, I should have brought it back, forgive me.'' He continued to look around, throwing pieces of clothing and papers here and there. _''Bollocks, it should be around here...''_ Arthur cursed in his mother tongue, causing the blond to chuckle. He rather liked how fluently the strange sounds came from Arthur's mouth; his voice also seemed an octave lower when he spoke English. Like speaking French -despite his near perfect knowledge of the language- still required a certain effort. ''Ah, found it!'' He turned around, a little flushed from the embarrassment. He blinked; the blond was now in his room. Said blond, though, didn't seem to care much for the book anymore. In fact, he looked distracted... elsewhere. Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he watched the Frenchman slowly walk toward the bed, then sitting on it with gently touching the blanket with an expression that Arthur could only describe as _longing_. Arthur's heartbeat rose, suddenly aware of how lightly the boy was dressed. He was wearing a simple pair of rather tight beige trousers and a loose white dress-shirt which was slightly unlaced at the front revealing just enough skin to send fire all the way up to Arthur's cheeks. His wavy golden hair, normally tied back with a ribbon, were falling freely, brushing a thin, long and tempting neck. Arthur was forcefully brought out of his musings by a rather loud thud. Both blonds, a little startled by the sound, looked for its source. Arthur looked down and realized that the book had simply slipped from his fingers; he wondered if he looked as stupid as he felt.

''Sorry I... huh... dropped it...'' Arthur wanted to slap himself very hard right now. He awkwardly picked it up and gave it to the young blond. Arthur could feel himself getting hotter as he got closer to Mathieu.

''Thank you.'' The other said simply, still a little out if it. ''It used to be my brother's room.'' Arthur froze and looked around him. He suddenly felt quite a shame for making a mess out of a room so precious to Mathieu.

''You're as messy as him.'' Mathieu chuckled, as if reading his thoughts. ''Military men... even if you are very disciplined, there's always a flaw somewhere.'' With that, Mathieu stood up and walked to the door. Hand on the doorknob Mathieu turned towards Arthur one last time. ''Thank you.'' He smiled.

''Anytime.'' Arthur answered, nodding politely.

When Mathieu opened the door, his smiled faded. There, standing against the hallway, looking quite unhappy, was mister Francis Bonnefoy. The man seized his son's arm and pulled him out of the officer's room.

''We need to talk.'' The man said darkly. He spared captain Kirkland a hateful glare then pulled his son away with him as he walked away. Eyes wide with both surprise and worry, Arthur rushed to the corridor and saw Mathieu being roughly dragged away.

''Father! Wait, why are you-''

''Silence!''

Arthur stood there, absolutely unknowing of what to do until he saw Mathieu turned his head toward him, eyes pleading. Arthur, obeying his heart, followed the father and the son, but he was unable to catch up to them; before he could, Francis had already slapped the door to his study shot and the sound of the door being locked soon followed. Arthur stared, then cursed loudly at himself. All he could do now, was to say a listen -hoping it wasn't as bad as it looked- and just be there when Mathieu would come out.

OoOoO

Inside the room, Francis finally let go of his son's arm. While the older man went to sit at his desk, Mathieu looked around the room in which his father had spent most of his since his return. The room was in a pitiful state. Papers, half-eaten and rotting food, empty bottles of wine... some where even broken and had been left on the ground. His father himself was in no better shape. His clothes were unkempt -his own father who normally took such pride in elegant clothing- his eyes were red from both sleeplessness and alcohol, his hair was a mess, and while Francis had always liked to leave a little bit of stubble on his sharp chin, this was the fist time Mathieu had ever seen his father with such a full-fledged beard.

He looked down, heart aching. He could not believe this was the man he respected and loved so much.

''I received a letter from lady Natalie today.'' His father spoke up. Mathieu reluctantly looked up to meet dull blue eyes. ''She said she regretted my not coming to the ball. I dare say that with what she wrote after, I fully regret not coming as well... I would have perhaps saved our family from your disgrace.'' Mathieu said nothing. Sighing, Francis continued. ''She wrote in a most discrete manner how _amused_ she was by how 'lively' you can get once you've had a few drinks.'' Mathieu bit the inside of his cheek. His father sounded quite upset. ''How could you be so irresponsible?''

''I'm terribly-''

''None of your excuses.'' Francis interrupted sharply. ''She also told me that it would be unlikely for you to marry Gilbert... why is that?'' Mathieu stared, frowning. Had not Natalie reported the the albino's hideous words?

''He said I was just a game for him!'' Mathieu cried out. ''All he's after is our Seigneury! He told this to lady Natalie herself! Why hasn't she mentioned it?''

''You were drunk!'' Mathieu gridded his teeth, containing his anger. He took a deep breath.

''I admit that my behaviour has been disgraceful... and I truly regret it...'' He started in a calmer voice. ''I may have been drunk, but not enough to imagine things. I heard perfectly well what he said... Won't you trust your own son?'' Francis found himself caught off guard by blue-violet pleading eyes. But his anger went beyond his good judgement and the last bottle of wine he had did nothing to help.

''I thought I could trust you, son... but you went too far. You ridicule yourself and your family in front of all the remaining respectable people in New-France, you push away a respectable gentleman... and as if it wasn't enough, I find you alone in that English's room... door closed!'' Mathieu's jaw fell.

''Do you even know what you are saying? This is ridiculous! How dare you suppose-'' He couldn't even finish his own sentence. His father was being paranoid.

''My point is that you're getting too close to this man to my liking, Mathieu. I forbid you to befriend those bastards!''

''We're at peace...'' Mathieu said, voice trembling from desperation. ''Won't you ever let go? Can't you forget about the war and just enjoy _being alive_ with us, _your family_?''

''Tch.'' Francis looked away. His first were clenched on his lap and his knuckles were white with anger.

''Capitaine Kirkland and his men have been so helpful to us... He did almost all the work _you_ were supposed to do in preparation for this winter. If anything, you owe him!''

''Shut up!'' Francis bounced on his feet, punching his desk with all his contained fury, scaring his son into silence. ''Those bastards...'' He spat, then looked at his son with blue steel eyes. ''You are so naive... you weren't on the battlefield. You know nothing of the war and of how I feel. Don't you remember what they did to Monsieur de Laval and his family?'' Mathieu flinched at the mention of the name. He indeed clearly remembered when his father had informed him that English rogue soldiers had burned down his house, raped his wife and killed their two small children. De Laval had been the one who found them. ''I saw my own son dying in front of my eyes. The soldier wouldn't stop stabbing him with his bayonet until I did the same to him!''

Mathieu listened, mortified, to his father's testimony. He had never heard the details of his older brother's death. He tried not to puke.

''And now,'' Francis continued, walking up slowly to his son. ''a man who swore allegiance to the very same King that murderer killed your brother for is sleeping in his room!'' Mathieu barely know what to say. A long moment of silence passed between father and son before the latter had the courage to speak up.

''Are you trying to make me believe, sir, that all French soldiers are blameless? That none of them are corrupted and that they have not betrayed us in anyway? How about the man you stabbed... was he not someone's son too?''

''You dare trash-talk the men who died for you and your nation?'' Francis said before slapping his son's cheek violently, instantly leaving a huge red mark on perfect skin.

''Gah!'' Mathieu covered the abused cheek with his hand, his hair shielding his face as he looked away.

''Have you no shame?'' Francis silenced himself at the sound of muffled sobs. His son turn to him, tears threatening to fall from hatred-filled eyes. Francis froze, petrified by a look he did not know his son was capable of.

''Mother would be disgusted by you.''

OoOoO

When Mathieu rushed out of his father's study, slamming the door behind him, Arthur Kirkland didn't know what to do and where his place was anymore. He was troubled by everything he had heard, but above all, he was troubled by the distressed expression on the young Bonnefoy. He stood there, unable to do anything, as Mathieu walked past him without even acknowledging him.

''Mathieu...'' He said weakly, uselessly extending his arm to reach for the boy. Said boy completely ignored the Britishman's weak call. Cursing himself, Arthur ran after him, finally able to catch the other's arm before he could enter his private quarters.

''Don't touch me!'' Mathieu cried out, his back still facing the man.

''Methieu, please, listen to me...'' Arthur said in a stern but still compassionate voice. He grabbed the blond's shoulders and turned him around. Mauve met green, and Arthur realized he had no idea of what to say. He had always been poor at comforting others and had never cursed this handicap until now.

Mathieu looked at the other man expectantly for a while before sighing deeply, getting tired. He was getting tired of the hatred, tired of the English, tired of this shaky, pathetic excuse of 'peace'... but more than anything, he could no longer bare to see his family slowly, agonizingly, falling apart.

''You have no idea how much I hate this uniform.'' Mathieu whispered darkly, clenching at the upper part of Arthur's redcoat and glared at the red fabric. Arthur looked at the boy's dark expression, the knot in his throat growing bigger.

Mathieu looked up to him, looked right into those deep green eyes that reminded him of the rich colour of grass in the summer, the grass on which his family had once picnicked before half of them were called back by their creator. He loosened his grip on Arthur's uniform, then eventually completely let go of it. He let his hands rest on the other's chest. His hatred gave in to resignation.

''But I simply can't seem to hate you.'' He admitted softly. Mathieu was realizing for the very first time how truly grateful he was for the other's presence. The man seemed to be the his only stable and reliable anchor lately. Arthur, relieved to hear those words, let out a breath he had not known he had been holding all this time. He wrapped his arms around the blond's small frame and erased any remaining space between them. He could feel the other slowly letting go of his tension before resting his head on his shoulder. Unable to further contain himself, Arthur tightened his grip around Mathieu lowering one hand on the blond's lower back while the other went up to stroke soft golden curls. He, then, buried his nose in silky hair and inhaled sharply, eyes closed.

Arthur knew after the very first breath that he was already addicted to the sweet scent.

OoOoO

_Arthur had been blissfully lying on top of the bed, arms crossed behind his head, when Mathieu entered the room dressed in nothing but a dress shirt of teasing length. The shirt stopped at not-quite mid-thigh, playing with limits of decency, and the front was completely undone. Arthur used his hand to sat himself up, leaning against the cushions behind him. He stared, wide-eyed and speechless, as Mathieu slowly walked toward him, an unreadable look in his eyes. Arthur became very aware of his growing erection when the younger blond climbed on the bed, placing two long legs on each of his sides and sat on his lap. He swallowed back a moan, feeling his clothed erection brush against Mathieu's naked butt. Mathieu slowly ran both his hands up from the officer's stomach to a firm chest, causing the other to blush a deep red. _

_''I love you, Arthur... Make me yours.'' He pleading in a soft but confident whisper, his lusty eyes never leaving Arthur's own. Arthur's cock twitched gleefully at the request. Arthur, though, still couldn't talk. Mathieu chuckled and leaned in to press a chaste kiss on Arthur's half-opened lips befar drawing back, smiling. The captain stared, expression suddenly serious, almost feral. He cupped the other's rose cheeks in his hands and pulled him in for another kiss, much more passionate this time. The younger blond moaned under the rough kiss, hungry lips brushing his own. Teeth, then a wet tongue ran over his already bruised lips, begging for entrance. Permission was granted, and Arthur eagerly deepened the kiss. Not a corner of Mathieu mouth was left unexplored. _

_Arthur's hands left Mathieu's face and quickly found themselves under his shirt. The hands travelled freely over soft skin and lean muscles before settling themselves on two pink nipples. Fingers played with them and they hardened, causing Mathieu's moans to become louder over Arthur's lips. The Britishman reluctantly broke the kiss, needing for air. As soon as that need was fulfilled, he buried his face in the crook of Mathieu's neck, unable to resist to the exposed skin. He kissed, licked and bit, answering Mathieu's order to make him his. _

_''Ah... Arthur...'' Mathieu let out a shaky moan, then another when he felt the other's warm hands stroke his inner thighs. He shivered under the gentle touch, feeling goosebumps on his legs and arms. Warmth grew unbearably between his legs when the captain's right hand teasingly brushed his erected member with the tip of his fingers, causing it to twitch. _

_Arthur felt himself losing control over his action when the smaller blond on his lap shyly bucked his hips, craving for more friction. Arthur had desired before, had explored himself in his youth, but had never touched another due to his religious convictions. But never in his twenty seven years of life had Arthur felt like this, never had he been so close to eternal damnation. He knew too well that he could not wait for marriage. He wanted Mathieu, wanted to take him right now._

_''Are you sure?'' Arthur whispered hotly against Mathieu's ear, before looking right into the other's eyes. The boy nodded and gave another shy thrust to enhance his answer. Arthur kissed him again, wrapped his fingers around his lover's shaft and began to pump the other rapidly. _

_''Aah... mhn...'' Matthew broke the kiss and clung to Arthur's shirt, face hidden in the crook of the older man's neck. When his fingers were wet with precum, Arthur switched hand, letting his left one continue to stroke Mathieu's cock, while the silk hand moved to stroke his lover's intimate entrance. Mathieu moaned against warm skin, aroused by the finger that was playing with his anus, then gasped in surprise when the same finger suddenly entered him. His middle finger having penetrated the other with relative ease, Arthur quickly added his middle one and began to stretch the other. Mathieu squirmed and groaned under the new, strange ministrations. But strangeness soon gave in to pleasure as the two fingers thrust deep inside him, brushing against his prostate. _

_Arthur was sweating, the excitement too simply too grand. He dug his nose into Mathieu's hair, his breathing fast in its need for the perfume he loved so much. He thrust and deeper, faster, harder into Mathieu's hole, imagining his own hard cock instead of his fingers, all the while continuing to pump the other, keeping up with the chaotic rhythm. _

_''Aah! Arthur!'' Mathieu cried out not too long after, legs shaking, and came into Arthur's hand. He moaned when Arthur kept going, pumping him dry and driving out his orgasm. _

_When all was over, they stayed in each other's arms, Arthur listening to Mathieu's heavy breathing. When the latter finally caught up with his breath, he looked up Arthur's neck and gave him a sloppy kiss. _

_''Your turn.'' He whispered huskily against warm lips, then smiled when he felt Arthur's still clothed member twitch against his butt again. Arthur watched, mind hazed and breath hot, as Mathieu drew back started to undo his trousers. The other pulled the fabric down along with his underwear and Arthur let out a sigh when his member was finally freed from its prison. The member was already wet, precum having long since came out when he had touched Mathieu. Arthur's breath stopped, knowing what was to come as Mathieu brought his face closer to his cock. He admired the dark red blush that spread over Mathieu's nose and cheeks an instant before moving his gaze to equally red lips, moving closer and closer to the tip of his member. Mathieu hesitated a short second before finally brushing his lips against the wiping member in a ghost-like kiss. _

_''Oh god...'' Arthur groaned as Mathieu teasingly brushed his lips all the way down Arthur's shaft before licking his way up to the head. The Englishman dug his hand in Mathieu's hair, gently massaging the scalp, urging the younger man to continue. Mathieu closed his lips around the head, sucking and twisting his tongue all around it. _

_Arthur moaned, unconsciously thrusting his member deeper into Mathieu's mouth._

_Mathieu understood the message and too the member all in._

Arthur woke up with a gasp, hot sweat falling freely from his forehead and breath hot and fast. It took a good minute for him to realize that it had all been a dream and that his underwear were quite wasted.

He wiped the sweat off and cursed under his breath, partly disappointed that it wasn't real and partly disgusted with himself. How would he ever be able to face Mathieu without this dream hunting the back of his mind?

OoOoO

Three days. It had already been three days since that eventful evening. During those three days, Mathieu had skillfully avoided captain Kirkland. Reciprocally, captain Kirkland didn't seem to be looking out for him like he used to; he did not come to him to ask if he needed help with anything, he did not ask him if he'd like to drink some afternoon tea with him... Mathieu did not know if he should be grateful or sad about it. Although he had always found Arthur most gallant with him, he had only truly realized what was the true nature of the Englishman's feelings two nights ago. The way he had held him... there was no mistake. Mathieu sighed for the umpteenth time.

''I think you're overreacting, Mathieu.'' Élizabeth said at least. Her brother had informed him of what happened that night, as well as during the ball, and while she had been first amused by Mathieu's reaction, now she was fearing he might be just unreasonable. ''Aren't you flattered? He's a very fine man and has helped us so much.''

''Because of what he represents...'' Mahtieu weakly offered. ''And... it could just be lust... The way he clung to me... I think that's simply it.'' Mathieu said quietly, still not looking at his sister. He felt ashamed; he should be the one comforting his sister, not the other way around.

''I know that's not it, Mathieu.'' She smiled. ''Captain Kirkland seems like a man of honour and virtue. I think he truly cares for you. I think you're just scared.'' Mahtieu turned to her, blinking.

''Scared of what?''

''You fear that he might not truly care for you, just like Gilbert, and you fear your own feelings... If you didn't feel anything for him, you wouldn't be worrying over this.'' Mathieu blushed; he was caught and couldn't deny his sister's words. Mathieu sighed again, looking out the window. He could see captain Kirkland on the fields with his soldiers; they were training.

''I'm so confused... I still cannot believe Gilbert was only after our money... I really liked him. And between captain Kirkland and I, there's always this barrier between us. I know I'm the only responsible for this barrier, that I should try to forget about what his uniform means to our family and our nation, but...'' He trailed off, rubbing his forehead.

''Give yourself some time, brother. That is the best and only advice I can offer you I'm afraid.'' Mathieu turned to her again, smiling softly. He rose from his seat and walked to his sister who was sitting in front of him. He leaned and brought her into a tight embrace.

''What would I do without you?''

''You would be pitiful to look at.'' She teased.

''Indeed I would.'' Mathieu laughed before kissing his sister's forehead.

Three short knocks on the door and Isabelle entered the room with a silver plate on which was a letter. The young girl gave it to Mathieu and left as promptly as she came. Mathieu frowned as he saw who had written it.

''Another letter from Gilbert?'' Élizabeth asked, seeing her brother's frown. Mathieu simply nodded before ripping the letter apart and disposing of it. ''It's the fourth letter he sends... what if it truly was a misunderstanding?''

''I know what I heard, Éli. I won't let his charming words fool me again.''

''...but perhaps you-Father?'' Mathieu blinked at his sister's words. He turned around to look at Élizabeth was looking at with such wide eyes. He gasped silently as he indeed saw their father entering the room. The man was dressed cleanly, had shaved, combed his hair and tied them back, and while he still looked dreadfully tired, Francis had never looked to well since his return. Mathieu smiled in relief when their gazes met. In them, he saw a plead for forgiveness and a honest desire to do better.

Finally, his father was back. His real father, the proud lord Francis Bonnefoy.

''Mahtieu... Élizabeth...'' He started weakly, walking closer. ''There is no excuse for my behaviour.'' He cupped his son's cheeks in his hands. ''Especially you... I feel ashamed for laying my hand on you. Will you find the strength in your heart to forgive your poor father?'' Mathieu's smiled stretched and he threw his arms around his father, laughing. Francis blinked, not expecting such a reaction; it went beyond even his most optimistic predictions. He warped one arm around his son's shoulder and used the other to invite his precious daughter to join in. The brunette gladly did so. Francis felt his eyes water. He thanked his god for giving him such wonderful children.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Well... I hadn't meant to stop here but it seems nice enough lol. Otherwise I felt the chapter would have been to long and too full. So expect many important turns of even in the next chapter! I'll try to update faster this time lol.

**PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK, THANK YOU KINDLY.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own neither Hetalia nor Marguerite Volant.

''French Speech''

_''English Speech''_

_Thoughts_

**Warning: **Angstigity angst. Gilbert being a dick. Natalie being an opportunist bitch. Arthur being his usual sexy British self. Also, I was too lazy to reread before posting.

**Enjoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Dominion Red<strong>

Lady Natalie entered the small, dirty apartment with a look of pure disdain. She could the distinct sound of drunken laughter behind the kitchen door. She opened her fan to cover her nose in a vain attempt to block the putrid smell of cheap alcohol. She opened the door and entered the kitchen, where she saw Gilbert growl angrily and punch the table, making the tokens jump shakily. The other men gathered around snickered as he threw his last coins at them. Natalie hid her own grin behind her fan. Then, finally noticing her presence, the men rose from their seat and left, though not before sending a meaningful glance at Gilbert.

''Gilbert... always such a pathetic loser. Won't you ever learn?'' She chuckled to herself, walking aimlessly around the room.

''Shut up, you witch.'' Natalie, shook her head at the childish response, smiling still.

''I suppose, from what I've seen, that you won't be able to pay me this week either.'' She turned to him at last, raising an elegant, but haughty brow. Gilbert looked away and took a quick sip from his bottle of wine.

''When I'm married-''

''Married?'' Natalie snorted. ''Please, Gilbert. Little Mathieu has yet to reply to any of your petty letters, has he? Otherwise you wouldn't be here.''

''I'm leaving tomorrow!'' Gilbert barked.

''Oh? And what do you hope to accomplish, pray, do tell me.''

''Mathieu is naive. A few pretty words and he'll be mine. His father already approves of our union. The rest is but formality.'' Natalie did not look too impressed.

''His father only approves because he thinks you are a...'' She looked around her, trying not to laugh. ''Gentleman.'' Gilbert threw her a warning glare, which Natalie promptly returned. ''Don't you dare look at me in this manner, Gilbert. You know what I am capable of. The little bit of reputation you have left, I will rob from you. If you fail to marry Mathieu-''

''I will not fail!'' Natalie frowned. She looked at the albino meaningfully and walked slowly towards the exit.

''You better not, Gilbert. You have three months.''

''Three months?'' Gilbert cried out in disbelief. Natalie turned to him one last time.

''Three months.''

OoOoO

Mathieu slowly walked down the quiet hallways of the mansion, a little disturbed by the conversation he had just had with his father. Francis had asked his son why he had not gotten visits or invitations from Gilbert yet. Mathieu had reminded him of the incident of the ball, but Francis still firmly believed that it had been a work of his drunken imagination. Mathieu managed to end the discussion without quarrelling, but his father had made it very clear that if needed, he would write to Gilbert himself. It was something Mathieu did not look forward to.

His musing were interrupted by the crackling sounds of the fire. He turned to the source of the sound and saw the door to the second living room was opened. He took a few mouse steps to take a peep into it. He saw captain Kirkland sitting by the fireplace, a small pocketbook in his hands. He was so absorbed in it, that he did not notice his presence. Mathieu felt his cheeks heat up as he kept on looking; it was so much easier to find the man handsome when he was not wearing his redcoat. The Englishman had indeed taken off his military suit, in favour of a simply white shirt over which he wore a simple black waistcoat. The fire, Mathieu observed, gave to the man's skin -already tanned from being so much outside- an exotic tone, and made his normally deep green eyes appear strangely clear and bright. Handsome seemed an understatement. And then, those enigmatic green eyes turned to him at last, finally having noticed his presence. The captain blinked in confusion before finally coming to his sense and rose to greet him.

''Please don't trouble yourself.'' Mathieu said hurriedly, holding his hand up for Arthur to sit back down. Arthur did so reluctantly. Even after all this time, Mathieu still could not get used to Arthur's overzealous decorum. The man acted like an old fashioned gentleman; he bowed every time they met, rose every time he entered the dining room for dinner, and rose when he retired from it... Mathieu briefly recalled the dance they has shared a littler over a week before. The captain danced so well, it made him wonder what kind of family he was from, back in England. And to be captain at so young an age... For sure, the man had important connections. Mathieu, however, did not think it would be polite to ask. ''I'm sorry to interrupt your readings, Capitaine.'' He said.

''Not at all.'' Arthur replied, looking still a little embarrassed. Mathieu and he had not shared more than a few cordial words since he had -Arthur still chastised himself for it- made his desires known. An awkward silence followed, and Mathieu turned back to the hallway.

''Well, goodnight Capitaine-''

''Wait.'' Arthur suddenly rose from his seat, startling the younger blond. Arthur cursed his spontaneity. ''Will you not sit down?'' Mathieu looked to the side, hesitant, and for a moment, Arthur worried that he might refuse. But the young Canadian walked back into the room and sat down on the chesterfield facing him. Arthur sat back down. Another silence followed.

''What are-''

''Would you-'' They both stopped, wanting to let the other finish. They chuckled a bit before Mathieu invited Arthur to start. ''I simply wanted to apologize for the other night... my behaviour was uncalled for.'' Arthur confessed, though he could not help but rejoice in the blush his apology invoked in his interlocutor.

''You were a great comfort. Let us think no more of it.'' Mathieu chose to pretend he did not know the extent of Arthur's feelings. It would make things much simpler. Arthur, of course, was not fooled by it, but played the game for the sake of harmony. ''What are you reading?'' Mathieu swiftly changed subject, hoping to lighten the mood. Arthur was grateful for it.

''A collection of sonnets by Shakespeare.''

''I see you are a very loyal subject of the British court.'' Mathieu teased.

''Indeed I am.'' Arthur smiled, and looked down briefly at his book.

''We have a few translations of Shakespeare's major plays in our library, but I've never read his poems. Will you not read one aloud for me?''

''With pleasure.'' Arthur smiled. He skimmed through his little book, looking for one particular sonnet. Once he found it, he quickly re-read it to prepare so that his translation would not come out too awkwardly.

''Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
>Thou art more lovely and more temperate.<br>Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
>And summer's lease hath all too short a date.<br>Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
>And often is his gold complexion dimmed;<br>And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
>By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.<br>But thy eternal summer shall not fade  
>Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;<br>Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,  
>When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,<br>So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
>So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.''*<p>

Arthur looked back up, looking directly into Mathieu's troubled blue eyes. The light-blond blushed under his burning gaze.

''It is very beautiful.'' Mathieu managed to say at last. ''You are very lucky to speak two languages. The knowledge and art you have access to doubles. I am quite envious.'' He admitted, smiling.

The two young men continued in quiet, trivial conversation, with Mathieu daring to enquire a bit after Arthur's home. He learned that the captain normally resided the greater part of the year in London, though he did not specify anything else and Mathieu did not push the matter further. Arthur, then, shared his views on living in the city -like in London- versus living in the countryside -like in the Seigneury. Mathieu shared his own anecdotes, telling Arthur how the gentry of Montréal envied nobles like the Bonnefoy, who lived near Quebec City and owned a house there. He explained that because of its being right beside the St-Lawrence river, Quebec city always got the goods imported from France first, leaving the Montrealers with what Quebeckers had been so kind as to cede to them.

It is only when the fire slowly started to die that Mathieu realized how late it must be.

''I think I better retire for the night.'' Mathieu said, fighting back yawn. He rose from his seat, stretching his arms lightly. Unsurprisingly, Arthur was quick to rise to his feet as well.

''Of course, sorry to have kept you up so late.'' Mathieu smiled in reply, too tired to scold the captain for being formal to the point of silliness. He walked up to the threshold and looked back at Arthur. They shared a long look.

''Good night, Capitaine.''

''Good night...'' Arthur watched longingly as the other exited the room. Once out of sight, he let himself fall heavily back into the armchair.

OoOoO

Arthur, despite everything, was glad that he and Mathieu had fallen back into the -relatively- comfortable camaraderie they had previously shared. Mathieu often came to him for some labour or other, and they shared some conversations from time to time. Another important change had occurred in the family, though. The father, having partly recovered from his numerous losses, was slowly taking over some of the tasks the landlord of a seigneury required. While the patriarch held clear disdain in his person and in his regiment, Arthur could not deny the good it brought in his love interest. The young Bonnefoy, with lighter workload and the great happiness of seeing his father getting better, had greatly improved his mood. While he understood Mathieu to be a generally cheerful young man, the return of his father (both in body and spirit) had brought back in full force that pride and special spark in his eyes which had impressed Arthur so much upon the night of his first seeing him. It had improved his looks as well; the dark circles under those clear blue eyes had disappeared, along with the worry and anguish which had obscure his beauty. Arthur noticed that it made the Canadian look younger. Much younger. To the point where Arthur wondered exactly how old the young man was. It was in their next conversation that Arthur tried to uncover the mystery. Subtly, of course.

''How old are you, exactly?'' _Nicely done, chap._ He thought stupidly to himself. Mathieu stared at him, blinking in confusion.

''... why?''

''Uh... Well, that is...'' It was then that Arthur remembered an important detail. ''You did not fight the war. I was wondering if it was...'' Arthur did not dare to finish his question, much too afraid that his guess might be right. Confusion cleared itself from Mathieu's face. That, at least, was good.

''Oh no, I was old enough to fight.'' Mathieu provided. Arthur fought back a sigh of relief. ''But my uncle -the priest of our seigneury- kept me in the monastery so that I wouldn't have to. Both he and my father did not think it was a place for me. Not that I believe it is a place for anyone, but God knows I wouldn't have last long on the battlefield.'' He chuckled. ''I'm actually eighteen.''

''Eighteen.'' Arthur repeated dumbly. A timely knock on the door was heard before Isabelle entered.

''Dinner is served.'' She announced. ''Monsieur Bonnefoy will be joining tonight.'' Mathieu's face brightened instantly.

OoOoO

Since the arrival of captain Kirkland's regiment, Francis had avoided dining in the dining room. It was already incredibly humiliating to have the British officers stay in his own domain, he certainly would not dine with them on top of that. Francis' spirits, however, had improved enough so that he would join them tonight, if only for his children's sake.

_''Well, this is awkward.''_ Alfred said, unable to bear with the uncomfortable silence any longer. The master of the house had either thrown daggers at him and Arthur or completely ignored them. The rest of the little assembly had not dared to utter a single word. _''Oh, right, I forgot!''_ He turned to his captain, who sighed deeply.

_''It seems that is all you can do, lieutenant Jones... forget things.''_ Mathieu looked warily to his right, where his father sat, to see him observing the two British officers with calculating eyes.

_''I received a letter from Colonel Kingsford this morning. There will be a royal proclamation this Sunday. As captain, you are expected to read it aloud in Ange-Gardien square.''_ Alfred continued, wisely choosing to ignore his superior's comment.

Mathieu saw his father's first clench tightly around his fork, then Mathieu turned toward the two officers when he heard the name of their hometown. He then looked to his sister, who was as confused as him.

_''Couldn't you have told me earlier, you twit?'' _

_''Well actually, with you being so close to the governor, I thought you might have known already.''_ Alfred replied sheepishly.

_''That's the silliest excuse you could-''_ Arthur stopped abruptly when Francis stood from his chair. He looked up at the man who, to say the least, looked perfectly outraged.

''Messieurs,'' Francis started warningly, looking dead in the eyes of each officer. ''at my table, in my house, we speak French!'' He looked at each one of his children. ''Élizabeth, Mathieu...'' The two rose from their seat as well and followed their father out of the dining room. Mathieu, before walking out the door, turned sharply to throw an angry look to the captain.

_''Certainly, the situation is beyond awkwardness now.'' _Alfred said once the Bonnefoys left. Arthur sighed heavily, massaging his temple. It seemed like every time he managed a step forward, something happened to mess things up.

OoOoO

It was the first snowfall of the year. The snowflakes were fluffy, but fragile. Mathieu followed the snowflakes down with his eyes, watching them as they melt as soon as they touched the grass. He sighed softly, his breath condensing with the cold. He heard steps coming from behind him, but chose to ignore them, not really caring to know who it was. He heard the sound of rustling clothes. His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he felt a warm cape cover his shoulders. He briefly looked down at it and recognized the customary grey colour of the British army's capes. He turned around to face Arthur. The older man looked perfectly uneasy. He sighed softly and looked back into the distance. If only the captain was not such a good man.

''Do you even realize what your mere presence means to my father? To my whole family... everyone!'' Mathieu asked after a short silence. Arthur straightened himself and sighed.

''We won the war, Mathieu. You are now a British citizen just like me. You _will_ have to accept it.'' Arthur said calmly. Mathieu frowned.

''I'd be careful if I were you, capitaine. People will not accept being oppressed.'' Arthur snorted at that. The boy was being ridiculous. Mathieu clenched his first in anger. ''I know how your country treats his other conquered colonies.'' Arthur hardened his stare.

''You think France is better, per-''

''What I'm saying,'' Mathieu interrupted. ''is that it's already hard for us. To know we'll probably lose everything of what we have left. Our religion, our titles, our rights, our businesses and possessions... As soon as a final treaty is signed, God knows what will happen to us.'' He looked away, taking the man's cape off. ''Until then, I expect a minimum of respect.'' He turned back to Arthur and handed him the cape. ''I won't let you destroy what's left of my family, capitaine.''

Arthur sighed deeply as he watched Mathieu go back into the mansion. He looked at the landscape Mathieu has been observing. The mansion was situated on top of a hill, giving a beautiful view of the nature surrounding it. Down the hill, he could see the smoke coming out of a few houses along the road which went led to Ange-Gardien town. He could see the faint lighting candles and chandeliers in the buildings provided. He could also make out the tavern, where probably many of his officers were at this time, getting into drunken fights with the few French men that remained.

OoOoO

Élizabeth woke with the morning light. She still had not gotten used to waking to an empty bed. She turned to right where her husband would normally have been sleeping. She fought back her tears and got ready for the day. Once dressed in her most modest black gown, she tied her hair back in a simple bun and walked to her husband's wardrobe. With trembling hands, she took out each article and carefully packed them into leather chests. She then went down the stairs, looking for the young lieutenant. After searching through the house, she finally founded him outside, repairing the wooden fence surrounding their kitchen garden.

''Lieutenant Jones?'' The young British soldier stopped and looked at her. He straightened himself and cried enthusiastically.

''Yes m'am!'' She could not help but smile.

''I need your help with something, if you don't mind.''

''Not at all, m'am. What can I do for you?''

Alfred followed the woman inside and gathered the heavy leather chests as she instructed him. He carried them into the carriage and prepared the horse for the ride. The lady had informed him that they would go to madame Tremblay's place, where his friend, officer cadet Dawkes, resided. The ride to the farm was a relatively short one; about twenty minutes. It seemed much longer to Alfred, however. The widow always had this sad, distant look in her eyes. He knew not what to say to cheer the lady up, which was something he could not bear. He hated being powerless in the face of suffering, but he also knew that it could not be helped. There was nothing else that could cure a broken heart than time. Still, he gave what little comfort he had to offer.

''I sent four of my soldiers in Saint-Benoit village. There have been robberies and other forms of violence which we believe were caused by your husband's assailants. I'm sure we'll catch them soon, m'am.''

''Thank you, lieutenant.'' She gave him a brief smile.

Once arrived at Mrs. Trembay's farm, Alfred helped Élizabeth out of the carriage, and Mrs. Tremblay, who had seen the carriage arrive as she had been outside with the kitchen, instantly went to greet them.

''Lieutenant Alfred Jones, under captain Kirkland's command. At your service m'am!'' He said energetically, saluting the small, middle aged woman. The latter laughed, looking him up and down.

''You're quite good looking for an English.'' She teased, hands on each sides of her hips. Alfred blinked once before laughing out loud. Officer cadet Dawkes arrived, saluting his superior. Then, the two Britishmen carried the chests out of the carriage and into the house. Mrs. Tremblay looked at them entering her house before turning to Élizabeth.

''I brought you my husband's clothes.'' Élizabeth informed. ''I thought you might want to use them to make warm clothes for your children.'' Mrs. Dawkes smiled fondly at her.

''You're just like your mother. So generous.'' Élizabeth smiled guiltily.

''The truth is that I just had to get ride of them. It's too painful to keep them.'' Mrs. Tremblay gently held her hand. Élizabeth knew that the woman had lost her husband in the war, leaving her with six children; they did not need to share words to comfort each other. The two watched silently as Dawkes and Jones carried the remaining chests inside the house.

''I think my guest has grown fond of my eldest daughter.'' She mused, earning a smile from Élizabeth.

''Really?'' She chuckled.

''Yes.'' The woman nodded. ''And judging from the way she looks back at him, I suspect the feeling's mutual.'' There was a short silence. ''I know my late husband would have never approved... but he's a good boy, and a hardworking one. I'm really grateful to have him around. Captain Kirkland's done a great job around here. Everyone feels safer, and with most of our men gone, the soldiers can do the hard labour for us.'' She turned to face the young lady Bonnefoy. ''If their little crush develops into something serious, I won't come between them.''

OoOoO

Saturday, the day before the proclamation, was a bright and sunny day. Mathieu was out in the kitchen garden with Isabelle. It would be the last little harvest before winter, probably, as the first snow -though brief and quite early even for Canada- had still damaged some of the vegetables. He got up to his feet from his crouching position and wiped his forehead, basket full of carrots in hand. Something red caught his attention. Curious, the young Frenchman walked to the front of the mansion and, adjusting his glasses, finally recognized the silhouette.

''What is this riffraff doing here?'' He whispered angrily to himself before entering the mansion to drop the carrots in the kitchen and quickly washing his face and hands. He went into the living room where he had left his vest and was about to walked back outside when a knock on the door was heard. It was a servant who opened the door, Gilbert standing tall behind her. Mathieu folded his arms, expression grim, and signalled for the servant to leave. The young girl nodded shyly and closed the door behind her. ''How dare you come here.''

''Mathieu-''

''I don't want to hear your excuses.'' Mathieu interrupted sharply, turning his back to Gilbert. ''I know what I heard.''

''Indeed you heard right, Mathieu.'' Gilbert's voice was soft and full of guilt. ''But please, let a poor man explain himself. I am not worthy of you, be if I could only explain and relieve myself from my guilt and have your forgiveness...'' The man trailed off. Mathieu, though still suspicious, turned to the white-haired man, willing to listen.

''You said I was just a game for you...'' Mathieu said with a trembling voice. He cursed himself mentally for not being able to control himself better.

''I know...'' Gilbert took a few steps nearer to him, clenching his three-cornered hat in his gloved hands. ''But Lady Natalie had been tormenting me, saying that you were spending a great deal of time with that English captain, and that you might be falling in love with him...'' He looked to the side, taking a deep breath. ''I was sick with jealousy and said horrible things.'' He looked back at Mathieu with begging eyes. ''And my foolish pride cost me the man I love.''

Mathieu's eyes widened, cheeks burning bright at the declaration. Gilbert smiled tenderly and offered his hand. Mathieu hesitated before giving in to his palpitating heart and laced his fingers with Gilbert's.

''I love you, Mathieu.'' Mathieu looked down to their linked hands bashfully, glad that this had been a misunderstanding after all. He looked back up, smiling to the man standing in front of him.

''If you truly love me, then you won't mind waiting for me, will you?'' He squeezed the other's hand gently. ''Please tell my father you don't plan on proposing until spring... I need time.'' A flicker of disbelief flashed in Gilbert's blood-red eyes, sending shivers down Mathieu's spine.

''B-but... I could never wait this long.'' Gilbert took another step forward and cupped Mathieu's flushed cheek. ''Please Mathieu...'' He whispered seductively, leaning in slowly for a kiss. Mathieu blushed deeply and moved his face slightly to the side so that the lips would land on his cheek. The taller man erased all remaining distance between the, and dig his nose into the crook of Mathieu's neck. The blond's eyes widened in panic.

''Gilbert, stop this.'' He said firmly, trying to push the man away. The other would have none of it and continued to kiss along Mathieu's neck. Mathieu felt disgusted, he struggled out of Gilbert strong grip and slapped him across the face. Gilbert grunted in surprise, covering his abused cheek with his hand. Mathieu took several steps back, almost knocking the table behind him. He was panting, eyes wide with fear. ''Get out.'' Gilbert, recovering from his initial shock, glared at the small blond.

''You little...''

''Get out!'' Mathieu repeated. Gilbert shot him an angry glare and, putting his hat back on, promptly exited the room. Once alone, Mathieu sighed deeply in relief then hurried to his father's study. He briefly knocked on the door and barely waited for permission before storming inside.

''Gilbert is an evil, disgusting man and I will never, ever marry him!'' Mathieu declared as soon as he entered the room. Francis looked at his son, looking genuinely surprised by his outburst, but did not look otherwise troubled by the content of the it.

''Gilbert has the necessary qualities to take care of the seigneury, and will undoubtedly know how to... adjust to the British regime.'' He stated calmly. Mathieu stared, not believing his father could remain so cold.

''He tried to impose himself on me while we were alone!'' He felt his eyes water slightly at his own words. Francis looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly regained his blazé countenance.

''You cannot blame the weakness of a man in front of your charms, Mathieu.'' He tried to argue, but Mathieu was only more outraged.

''You don't really care about me, do you...'' He said in a soft, resigned voice after a long silence. He turned on his feet and walked out of his father's study, slamming the door behind him.

Francis felt his heart ache deeply at Mathieu's words. He flinched when the door banged. A dull whistling sound irrupted in his ears and he felt ill for a brief moment. He ran his hands on his face, trying to come back to his senses. He let out a shaky sigh and slowly walked to the nearest window. He leaned tiredly against it and watched numbly Kirkland's regiment train down the hill, one of the soldiers waving the Union Jack in time with their march. It came like a lightening... the realization of the extant of his worthlessness. Unable to protect his country which then abandoned him, unable to protect his family and make his remaining children happy, and not strong enough to simply move on...

OoOoO

Sunday, the day of the proclamation. Mathieu joined his sister downstairs in the main entry hall. He had chosen solemn clothes in neutral sandy and earth colours, and his sister, also fully dressed, still wore his morning gowns. They waited for their father. Most of the villagers near their seigneury had left, and the British soldiers had left even earlier to prepare the place where the proclamation was to be read. Isabelle appeared with Mathieu's coat in hand. He thanked her and told her should could leave when ever she wanted to join the rest of the villagers. She did so at once. Soon, Ludwig entered the house; he would be joining them for the royal proclamation. A few minutes only passed before their father came out of their study. What they saw stunned the two siblings.

Their father was wearing his French navy uniform. The bright blue and white immaculately clean and the cut of the uniform was sharp as their father stood tall and proud. Mathieu smiled at the sight, heart racing with admiration. The French commander walked to his children and took one hand each in his own and squeezed them gently.

''Won't you provoke them?'' Élizabeth asked worriedly. Francis looked at her and smiled fondly.

''Don't worry.'' He then looked over to his son and was surprised -and glad- to see the young blond's eyes bright and sparkling with pride.

''You look well, Francis.'' Ludwig said softly.

He smiled at his cousin and kissed his children's forehands before announcing, ''Let's go.''

Once they arrived, almost the entire village had gathered. The Bonnefoys advanced to the front of the crowd to see that a large wooden stage had been built for the occasion; several English flags were shamelessly decorating it. On the stage, several chairs at been laid out for the noble families such as the Bonnefoys. The three of them walked up on the stage, all eyes fixed on them, or more particularly, on Francis. Whispers could be heard from the crowd and Mathieu noticed the grim expression on captain Kirkland's face. While, as always, his demeanour stayed calm and in control, Mathieu was starting to know him well enough to know that the Britishman was far from pleased at the show. On the captain's left was another high ranking officer -also captain, Mathieu observed, as the uniform suggested- which Mathieu had never seen. He must be from another regiment which was also on mission like Kirkland somewhere near Ange-Gardien. Mathieu turned his attention back to the chairs in front of him and recognized the two other families sitting there. The Bonnefoys took their seats silently, and the whispers subdued after a short moment.

Mathieu saw Arthur look briefly at him before his unrolled the document he was holding and began to read.

''His Most Christian Majesty renounces all pretensions which he has heretofore formed or might have formed to Nova Scotia or Acadia in all its parts, and guaranties the whole of it, and with all its dependencies, to the King of Great Britain: Moreover, his Most Christian Majesty cedes and guaranties to his said Britannic Majesty, in full right, Canada, with all its dependencies, as well as the island of Cape Breton, and all the other islands and coasts in the golf and river of St. Lawrence, and in general, every thing that depends on the said countries, lands, islands, and coasts, with the sovereignty, property, possession, and all rights acquired by treaty, or otherwise, which the Most Christian King and the Crown of France have had till now over the said countries, lands, islands, places, coasts, and their inhabitants, so that the Most Christian King cedes and makes over the whole to the said King, and to the Crown of Great Britain, and that in the most ample manner and form, without restriction, and without any liberty to depart from the said cession and guaranty under any pretence, or to disturb Great Britain in the possessions above mentioned.-''

Roars of disbelief echoed from the crowd and Mathieu struggled to remain calm as well. It was an utter abandon from France, promising never to even try to regain the colony of Canada. Mathieu looked worriedly at his father, who remained -on the outside at least- completely unperturbed. Perhaps he had seen this coming.

''His Britannic Majesty, on his side, agrees to grant the liberty of the Catholic religion to the inhabitants of Canada: he will, in consequence, give the most precise and most effectual orders, that his new Roman Catholic subjects may profess the worship of their religion according to the rites of the Romish church, as far as the laws of Great Britain permit.-''

Here again, captain Kirkland was interrupted by the crowd who, this time, seemed relieved to hear the declaration.

''His Britannic Majesty farther agrees, that the French inhabitants, or others who had been subjects of the Most Christian King in Canada, may retire with all safety and freedom wherever they shall think proper, and may sell their estates, provided it be to the subjects of his Britannic Majesty-'' Mathieu heard some nobles curse loudly behind him at that, as well as some habitants, unhappy to hear that Britishmen hand found another way to rob what was theirs ''-and bring away their effects as well as their persons, without being restrained in their emigration, under any pretence whatsoever, except that of debts or of criminal prosecutions: The term limited for this emigration shall be fixed to the space of eighteen months, to be computed from the day of the exchange of the ratification of the present treaty.'' **

Arthur then proceeded to read what Britain had ceded over to France in exchange for the her North American colonies. Mathieu, of course, already knew this information from his father. The villagers, however, did not take well being handed over so complete and humiliating manner for a few islands of slaves, sugar and rum. Protests became louder and more numerous and the villagers began to throw anything they could find at the soldiers. Mathieu watched, frozen into place as some threw their groceries, and others even threw their money.

Arthur had ceased reading the proclamation and stared, not knowing what to do. The other officer standing beside him, captain Davis, clenched his fists angrily, losing patience.

''Fix your bayonets!'' Arthur stared at captain Davis in incredulity, then watched as both regiments fixed the bayonets upon their weapon and aimed them at the crowd. The villagers stepped back, crying in panic.

Mathieu gasped, covering his mouth in horror. He saw his father promptly rising from his seat and stealing the nearest English soldier's weapon and fired in the air, earning everyone's attention and scaring everyone into silence. He then threw the weapon angrily in front of him and walked up to the two captains.

''Go ahead. I dare you to order to fire.'' Francis said darkly, staring into captain Davis' stunned eyes. He moved his gaze onto captain Kirkland's, who looked much calmer. The two stared unblinkingly at each other.

''Bayonets down, men.'' Arthur ordered, not looking away from Francis Bonnefoy.

Élizabeth and Mathieu sighed in relief and quickly rose to join their father, Ludwig following close behind them. Mathieu took his father's arm, who suddenly felt the adrenaline leave him and found himself slightly dizzy. He gratefully accepted his son's support and the Bonnefoys left the stage silently.

Arthur looked at them leave and saw that the villagers were gradually doing the same. He turned to captain Davis.

_''You are a dangerous, mad man''_ He growled, earning a glare from his counterpart_. ''A report will be sent no later than tomorrow morning, of that you may be certain, sir.''_ Arthur declared before walking away, leaving a quite distraught captain behind him.

OoOoO

The ride home had been silent and solemn, and still not a word had been uttered when the Bonnefoys entered their home and took of their coat. Francis slowly walked in the direction of his study, his two children hesitantly following behind him. He turned to them and looked at them for a long moment. He took their hands, squeezed them gently and offered them a weak smile.

''I need to be alone.'' His children silently acquiesced to his request and let him enter his study, closing the doors behind him.

Élizabeth and Mathieu looked at each other, took each other's hand and went into the living room with Ludwig to rest and wait for their father.

OoOoO

Captain Kirkland was slowly riding his horse back to the mansion, his lieutenant and most of his soldiers behind following hims. He saw his lieutenant catch up to him, a worriedly look on his face.

_''Are you okay, captain?''_

_''Of course.''_ Arthur sighed. _''I'm only upset... that damn captain Davis almost caused an uprising. Almost killed those people. As if we weren't already hated as it is.''_

_''Not all of them hate us... Oh, you mean Mathieu?''_ Arthur looked sharply at him, but found he had nothing to say for his defence. Lieuenant Jones smiled knowingly. _''What will you write in your report?''_

_''Enough to have him discharged. Our mission is to restore peace, not kill our majesty's new subjects-''_

Arthur was cut short by the sound of a gunshot coming from the Bonnefoy's mansion. Panicked and fearing for the worse, he turned to his soldiers._ ''Follow me, quick!'' _He whipped his horse. _''Come on!''_

OoOoO

Mathieu, Élizabeth and Ludwig froze. They looked at each other briefly before running to Francis' study. Mathieu was the first to arrive and banged at the door.

''Father! Father!'' The door was locked and wouldn't open. Ludwig gently pushed him away and kicked the door open. The three of them ran into the room and stopped at the sight.

Francis Bonnefoy was sitting in his chair, eyes closed, an enormous, bleeding gash in his stomach. The gun was still smoking slightly from the shot and was held loosely in Francis' hand, which rested, unmoving, on his lap.

Mathieu was the first to move. He took slow, careful steps toward his father. He did not utter a single sound, tetanised with complete and pure horror. Once he reached his father, he fell to his knees, eyes burning and filled with tears. He gently gathered his father in an embrace. The latter remained unmoving. Mathieu sobbed loudly as he held his father's lifeless, but still warm body. He heard his sister gasp and chock on her breath behind him, then she flew to the next room. He heard her scream and sob, throwing everything she could find on the floor – tables, vases... His sister's hysteric outburst only made him sob louder.

''Élizabeth!'' Ludwig ran to her and caught her arms to stop her from causing more damage.

''Let me go! Let me go!'' The young woman trashed and screamed, trying to get out of Ludwig's arms.

''Élizabeth, stop this... stop this. It's over.'' Ludwig said in a trembling, but strong voice as he gathered her in a strong embrace. Élizabeth finally gave in and cried into her uncle's shoulder.

OoOoO

_''Be on your guard!''_ Arthur heard his lieutenant shout as he and his soldiers dismounted their horses. Several neighbours and field workers had already gathered at the mansion's front yard. As soon as they passed through, Arthur saw the main door open.

Mathieu came out, walking straight up to him, eyes in daze and red with tears. Arthur's breath caught up in his throat and he struggled to remain composed.

Then, Mathieu lifted up his arm, holding a gun and aiming it straight at Arthur's face. Barely an inch separated the weapon from him. If people gasped around him, he did not hear it, as he could only hear the sound of his own beating heart. Time seemed to slow down. He looked, eyes wide, at the tip of the gun so near his chin, then back into Mathieu's eyes. Tears were falling down his cheeks, and the boy looked just as dazed.

He heard a small click, saw a small spark coming from the gun, but nothing else came.

He was still alive.

Arthur released a shaky breath as Mathieu closed his eyes in defeat. Alfred was the first to react and took the gun away from the young man. He set the gun and successfully fired towards the sky.

Arthur's eyes widened in horror and stared down at Mathieu, but he boy was looking away, resigned. Arthur swallowed thickly and said in a strong voice.

_''Put mister Bonnefoy under arrest and bring him back to his quarters.''_ He ordered to no soldier in particular, still looking intently at Mathieu. The latter rose his gaze to him.

''You are accused of attempt murder on an officer of his Majesty.'' He finished in a trembling voice. Mathieu did not look disturbed by the accusation. Arthur could not read the young man's expression at all. Two of his soldiers grabbed Mathieu unceremoniously by his arms and dragged him inside the mansion.

Arthur took a deep, shaky breath and looked at his lieutenant, who was still staring down at the gun in disbelief.

For a moment, Arthur wished he had died; then, he wouldn't have to live on with a shattered heart.

* * *

><p>* Shall I compare thee to a summers day, Sonnet 18, by Shakespeare.<p>

** You can read the full treaty of Paris online.

**NOTE:** ... Yes, a very random and spontaneous update. I suddenly felt like continuing this. I even have a sequel in mind. I don't know if much people will read this, but oh well.

I know what you're thinking: Matthew (especially Matthew) and Arthur are being total stupid and brainless twits... but I wanted them to be, because if they weren't, they would have thrown themselves at each other's arms right from the beginning and there wouldn't have been a story lol.

Don't worry guys (if you are still reading this). They will get the happy their happy lovey-dovey ending.

This chapter was probably super awkward and badly written since I haven't been writing/into this story for ages... I hope it didn't suck too hard.


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